


Bloodstained Thread of Fate

by lotus above mud (frostmoongoddess)



Series: Seisaikara [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kekkei Genkai | Bloodline Limit, Mangekyou Sharingan, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Sexism, Prequel, Sharingan, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Warring States Period (Naruto), adding more tags as story progresses, madara and izuna are more emotional so they might seem OOC but it's part of the DEVELOPMENT luvs, never forget that hashirama called madara a kind man at heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmoongoddess/pseuds/lotus%20above%20mud
Summary: "There is no clan that feels deeper love than the Uchiha..."During the Warring States Period, the Gūzō Clan became renowned for its signature technique, theSeisaikara. The clan wished for peace, but as the fighting raged on, the clan resorted to selling its own members to other clans in order to keep their distance.Gūzō Hasuri is presented before the Uchiha Clan. Madara lays his eyes on the beautiful young kunoichi and his heart is full with love for his brother, his best friend, and his lover. But fate begins to spin its cruel, tragic tale."...The deeper the darkness gets, the greater the Visual Prowess becomes, until the person can no longer be stopped. Just like Madara."
Relationships: Uchiha Izuna & Original Character(s), Uchiha Izuna & Original Female Character(s), Uchiha Madara/Original Character(s), Uchiha Madara/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Seisaikara [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983452
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is actually a prequel to my other fic, _Person By The Bedside_. Reading that is optional, though you will have a better understanding of my original kekkei genkai, _Seisaikara_. If you're returning from PBTB, then this will expand on the Gūzō Clan's history!  
>   
> This is also a content warning, but I couldn't find the exact wording for it for a tag. This story features the buying and selling of shinobi for their abilities, and this may be reminiscent of human trafficking. Please read on with caution.

* * *

Listen while you read: [Elgar Cello Concerto, Movement 3 - Adagio](https://youtu.be/afkDw4JOzuk)

* * *

The sun had already set, the freshly extinguished rays dying the sky a rich cobalt and the sparse clouds a pewter gray. A loud cry rang through the small village and echoed off the mountains behind it. Strolling family members, relaxing after the stressful day of avoiding the constant war beyond, grew momentarily alert. 

“Don’t go, Hasu!” cried sixteen-year-old Shirayuri as she clung to her older sister’s waist. “You can’t leave me alone! Not after Mother and Father died!”

“I’m sorry, Yuri,” Hasuri comforted softly, stroking her little sister’s long black hair. “I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t have any choice in this.”

“I _hate_ Uncle Niwaki!” Shirayuri buried her face into her sister’s chest. “I _hate_ him! Why must he send our clan, our _family_ away to other clans like we’re gifts?”

Hasuri sighed. It wasn’t like Shirayuri was a child anymore. She should understand by now that this was the fate of their clan, but Hasuri also understood her sister’s crestfallen rage.

Their father’s brother and leader of their clan, Gūzō Niwaki, orchestrated and oversaw the selection, presentation, and purchase of members who had fully awakened the clan’s _kekkei genkai,_ the _Seisaikara,_ which granted them the ability to turn chakra into an indestructible shell. Of course, it was a completely defensive technique, which forced the Gūzō Clan to maintain a pacifist lifestyle. Ever since the fighting began, their clan wandered, seeking a home that would never fight. Unfortunately, they never found one, and bloodshed became unavoidable. Decades ago, the clan leaders made a decision. If they could not find peace, they would instead seek neutrality and refused to align with any one state, which also became a mere dream. Thus began the selling of full-fledged Gūzō clan members to other clans in exchange for the Gūzō clan to be left alone. 

It was a good idea. But the sentiment ended there. For decades, it was the clan leaders who reaped the rewards. They easily bargained their own flesh and blood for their so-called “peace,” ignoring the fact that the loved ones they just sold would eventually be killed in the battlefield themselves. Hasuri hated it. How was this peace? How could Uncle Niwaki call himself the clan leader if there was no clan anymore?

Shinobi were tools. The phrase constantly drilled into the children’s mind. But Gūzō children were invaluable tools. Trained from a young age to perfect the _Seisaikara_ through rigorous breathing exercises and chakra control, naturally refining healing techniques along the way. The perfect defense. An indestructible armor, and medical ninjutsu to boot. 

And, Hasuri had to admit, the plan worked. The Gūzō Clan gained prestige and respect among the warring states and clans. Nobody dared to touch the unaligned Gūzō members, and even when sold, they were treated like family, or royalty if the buying clan could afford it. 

But was it worth facing death in the eyes? While no Gūzō had to fight on the frontlines themselves, it must have been painful to watch newfound friends and allies be slaughtered in front of them. After all, _Seisaikara_ and medical techniques had their limits. 

“Calm down, Yuri, it’s alright _._ Besides, there’s no guarantee the buying clan will pick me.”

“Of _course_ they’ll take you! Your _Seisaikara_ is better than anyone! You _can’t_ go! If they take you, I’ll go with you! They won’t even need to buy me!”

“It’s not my decision,” Hasuri replied, patting her sister’s back. “Besides, you still need to perfect your _Seisaikara._ ”

“But _how!?”_ Shirayuri sniffled. “I’ll do it right away if you tell me! I’ll practice day and night until Uncle Niwaki sells me! If he doesn’t sell me the same clan as you, then I’ll run away!”

“Don’t be silly.” Hasuri massaged her younger sister’s shoulders as she gently chuckled. Partly out of how endearing her sister was, partly out of fear and nervousness. “Take your time. It’ll be better in the long run.”

“But you have to _tell_ me!” Shirayuri backed away, looking up at Hasuri with her dark almond eyes as wide as the moon and as wet as the grass in the morning.

“All you need to do…” Hasuri slightly bent down and put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “...is think of me.”

“Huh?” Shirayuri tilted her head to the side like a puppy, causing Hasuri to laugh out loud. 

Despite being two years apart, Shirayuri looked much younger than Hasuri mostly due to their height difference. While Shirayuri was short for a girl, Hasuri was rather tall. While both were quiet and reserved, Shirayuri was more timid while Hasuri was more stoic. Hasuri generally looked older since she left her long black hair in a simple loose ponytail, held by a simple loop of twisted linen. Shirayuri accentuated her youthful appearance by styling her hair with thin half-pigtails high on her head while leaving the rest of it completely down. 

“ _Seisaikara_ is about protecting the ones you care about,” Hasuri began. 

“You place others’ lives over your own,” Shirayuri recited. Practically a mantra the clan used to help awaken their sacred ability.

“Exactly.” Hasuri smiled warmly. “The stronger you want to protect your target, the easier it is to use _Seisaikara._ So, whenever I practice, I think of you!”

“Really?” Shirayuri’s eyes twinkled.

“Of course, silly!” Hasuri slapped her own thigh at the ridiculousness. “You’re my baby sister, and you’re all I have left. Why wouldn’t I want to protect you?”

“So, you’re saying that I should think of you when I’m practicing?”

“Yes. Think of me in danger. Imagine me in front of you, about to go off to battle. You’ll perfect it in no time!”

A knock on the sliding door of the sisters’ room. They looked over their shoulders as the door rumbled open. Their Aunt Ran —Niwaki’s wife and their mother’s sister — appeared in the doorway. Even in a plain _yukata,_ Aunt Ran looked as elegant as a princess. 

But Hasuri couldn’t deny how ghastly her aunt appeared. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks stained with tears new and old. Aunt Ran also looked terribly thin, her usual willowy grace now making her seem frail. 

“Hasu, dear _,_ your uncle wants to speak with you,” she said with a sad politeness. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hasuri responded promptly with a bow of her head.

“Aunt Ran! You have to tell Uncle Niwaki that he _can’t_ sell Hasu!” Shirayuri exclaimed, leaning forward and bringing her forehead to the floor in desperation. 

_“Get up, Yuri!”_ Hasuri hissed as she reached over to grab her sister’s shoulders and make her sit up straight, but Ran knelt down before them.

“Go, Hasu,” Ran urged kindly. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hasuri bowed forward again. “Thank you.”

With an approving nod and warm smile for Ran, Hasuri stood up, grabbing her white linen _haori_ with their clan symbol embroidered on the back and slipping it on over her own _yukata._ She began to tie her long, loose hair with the strip of linen around her left wrist like a bracelet as she made her way through the halls of their family residence. Through the _shōji_ , Hasuri could see the blurred golden-orange glow of the lanterns still lit in the grand master bedroom. 

She gently knocked against the wood frame. 

_“Come in,”_ came Uncle Niwaki’s reply.

Hasuri grabbed the slightly parted middle edges of the doors and pulled them apart. She stepped inside and slid the doors shut behind her. There, she saw her Uncle Niwaki sitting cross-legged on the edge of the grand, raised platform bed. His hair was still in a knot at the crown of his head. His eyes were closed, but Hasuri noticed the deep furrow of his eyebrows. Something was wrong. If Uncle Niwaki was truly practicing his breathing training, his face should be completely relaxed. Still, Hasuri didn’t want to be rude and simply sat on her heels on the floor before her uncle. Her clan leader.

“Hasuri,” he began. “I called you in hopes that you will forgive me.”

She didn’t look up to meet his somber gaze. She just stared blankly ahead, blinking occasionally.

“I understand that you resent me. I don’t blame you. I failed you as your uncle, your father’s brother, and as a clan leader by indirectly sending you, an innocent girl, into the battlefield,” he continued. 

Niwaki stood up and sat on the ground before Hasuri, placing his hands on her shoulders. 

“But your parents’ skills were greater than even mine. They’ve trained you well, and you are diligent,” he praised with a sad smile. “You are one of the best _Seisaikara_ users in the clan, and we are running thin. The Uchiha and the Senju have grown more demanding. Please forgive me for choosing the safety of our clan over you.”

Movement forced her eyes’ natural instinct to focus, widening when she realized that Niwaki was bowing forwards and bringing his forehead to the floor. Uncle Niwaki, leader of their clan, bowing before her and asking _her_ for forgiveness. Despite her frustration, her eyes began to sting as a glaze of hot tears enveloped them. 

“Uncle…” Hasuri leaned forward and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. “It’s alright. I understand. For the sake of the clan, I would gladly risk my life.”

As Niwaki sat up, he continued. Hasuri noticed the glare of the tear streaks down his cheeks from the nearby candlelight. 

“Then I hope you will forgive me for Shirayuri as well.”

“What?!” Hasuri’s eyes widened and her brows furrowed. “What do you mean, Uncle?! You can’t possibly sell Shirayuri! She’s not ready!”

“No, not yet.” Niwaki bowed his head. “But she must train even more vigorously. Her strength may never equal yours, but compared to others in our clan, it is still significant. Once you are bought, it will only be a matter of time before the other clan demands a suitable counter. I don’t know how much time I can buy before then.”

“Forgive me, but who is the buyer?” Hasuri asked.

It was customary to not reveal the customer’s identity until the moment of presentation, but Hasuri believed she deserved to know. Her uncle closed his eyes and sighed.

“It is Lord Tajima, leader of the Uchiha Clan,” Niwaki admitted. “Matsu, your father’s replacement, was killed in action some days ago, and now, Lord Tajima is returning.”

 _‘So Shirayuri will be sold to the Senju Clan…’_ Hasuri deduced as her gaze shifted to the floor. 

“But fear not. Remember to always wear the white _haori_ and to paint our crest on your forehead in red. That way, no one would dare attack you. You must also do this tomorrow morning and meet in the grand hall after breakfast. Lord Tajima will arrive at noon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can only hope that Lord Tajima will not admit a woman to the battlefield, but strength and power knows no boundaries,” Niwaki added forlornly. “As your uncle and clan leader, I cherish you dearly, Hasuri. It pains me to put you on the presentation roster, and it pains me to even think of you leaving. I know the pain you are feeling is far greater.”

“Please, Uncle. No more pitying,” Hasuri said. “I told you already, I understand. I only ask that you train Shirayuri well. Train her to be stronger than me, but be kind to her. She learns best with praise and encouragement.”

With that, Hasuri bowed to her head to the floor with her final request. 

“I most certainly will. I will not let you down, dear Hasuri,” Niwaki confirmed. “Now please, get a good night’s rest. Ran should have prepared a hot bath for you.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, Uncle.” 

“Good night, Hasuri.”

With that, Hasuri stood up and returned to her room where Ran and Shirayuri greeted her joyously. The vivacity and elation returned to Shirayuri’s face as she threw herself into Hasuri’s arms. 

“C’mon, Hasu! We prepared you a bath! I’ll wash your hair for you!” Shirayuri beamed. “Aunt Ran says I can even help you do your paint and hair tomorrow morning!”

“Oh! Why, thank you.” Hasuri smiled warmly, though stunned at how quickly Shirayuri’s mood had changed. It was as if their uncle had never announced Hasuri’s placement on the selling roster at all. 

Suddenly, Shirayuri grabbed Hasuri’s hand and pulled her outside to the private bathhouse, Hasuri letting out a yelp as her little baby sister yanked her out of the room. 

Hasuri glanced back to Ran, who simply chuckled and trailed behind the young pair of sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. Some side notes:  
> -I have no idea who the Uchiha clan leader was before Madara. The logical progression is that it was Tajima, but it's reasonable to assume that Madara fought to be the leader since he was, at the time, the strongest Uchiha.  
> -So for PBTB, the focal Gūzō family were named after Buddhist figures. This time around, they're named after flowers/plants/trees. Hasuri begins with _"hasu"_ (lotus) and while _"ri"_ has many meanings, I think a fitting translation is either "person" or "village". Shirayuri means white lily, Niwaki refers to garden trees, and Ran means orchid.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Listen while you read: <https://youtu.be/QBKP8TtrDgA>

* * *

The location the Gūzō Clan settled in was, in Hasuri’s opinion, a perfect paradise. A small settlement of fine wooden homes had been constructed along the banks of a mountainside hot spring lake. A sturdy, pier-like bridge stretched across the surface of the lake leading to their little village. Hasuri liked to imagine that if the world wasn’t at war, ripping its own throat out, their clan would have a family business of running a public hot spring bathhouse. 

For now, their clan constructed several small bathhouses for private use for each family of the clan. As members of the leading family, Hasuri and Shirayuri had access to the largest private bathhouse, complete with a two-tiered hot spring with the smaller, higher spring pouring into the larger, lower one rather than the usual single spring. 

As Hasuri stepped inside the bathhouse, a wall of a light, floral and fruity fragrance filled her nostrils. 

“I’ve filled the springs with jasmine flowers and orange rind,” Ran said warmly. “We’ll even scrub your skin till it’s nice and soft!”

“Oh, no! That won’t be necessary!” Hasuri insisted. “Washing my hair is more than enough, thank you.”

“At least let Aunt Ran scrub your back! She’s way stronger than I am!” Shirayuri insisted. 

“Alright, alright,” Hasuri gave in with a soft chuckle. 

Hasuri then took off the white _haori_ and reached behind her back to untie her _obi,_ Ran’s hands collided with hers.

“I can do this myself!” Hasuri said, half-embarrassed.

“Let us treat you, just this once,” Ran said. 

Hasuri couldn’t really argue with that. In defeat, she straightened her arms and held them out to her sides. The slight snugness around her thin waist loosened, and Hasuri felt as though her lung capacity increased just a bit. As Ran straightened and refolded the sash, Hasuri walked towards the edge of the hot springs where the half-foot tall waterfall spilled into the lower pool. She slipped off her _yukata_ from her shoulders; Shirayuri quickly gathered the fabric. She stepped into the water, hot but not scalding, and felt it envelope her legs up past her ankles as it balanced on a tiered pile of stone slabs as a makeshift stairwell into the shallow bath. The floating jasmine petals caressed her calves.

She took two more steps until the water was up to her waist. She then sat beneath the waterfall, feeling her thick hair act as a shield to prevent the water from seeping to her scalp as it poured onto her shoulder blades. Behind her, Shirayuri replaced their _yukata_ with _haori_ and stepped into the upper pool. Ran placed a washcloth on the edge of the lower pool in Hasuri’s reach. Shirayuri sat on the edge of the higher pool behind Hasuri and bent over.

“Careful,” Hasuri warned teasingly as her younger sister gathered her hair and thoroughly rinsed it with the falling water. “You’re so small, you might get caught in the current.”

“Hey!” Shirayuri laughed, tugging her older sister’s hair and causing Hasuri’s head to lean back. “Don’t forget, I’m the one washing your hair! I can give you as many tangles as I want!”

“Go ahead! I can cut out all the knots and still have hair way thicker than yours,” Hasuri returned with a smug smile. 

“Now, now, girls,” Ran said, though Hasuri could hear the amusement in her voice. “Yuri, be careful! What if you caused Hasu to hit her head? And Hasu, not everyone is blessed with your mother’s thick hair, so be nice!”

“More like cursed, if you ask me,” Hasuri muttered. “Aunt Ran, are there any shears around? I think I’m going to cut my hair.”

“You can’t possibly think of doing that now!” Ran exclaimed. Her reaction made it sound like Hasuri had asked her aunt to cut off her hair instead of her own. 

“Why not?” Hasuri sat up and faced her aunt. “I won’t cut off a lot! The ends are all frayed like rope and filled with tiny knots, so maybe just cut off a pinky finger’s length. Or maybe I should just get it cut to my shoulders?”

“No!” Her aunt and sister both shouted.

Hasuri jumped and waded a few feet away from the waterfall and gawked at them. She noticed their widened eyes and wondered what could possibly be going on.

“Not yet anyway,” Shirayuri added, more calmly. “Until after the presentation, okay?”

“But why?” Hasuri squinted. “What’s going on here?”

Hasuri watched as Ran and Shirayuri exchanged glances. Shirayuri nodded, and Ran turned to face Hasuri, closed her eyes, and sighed.

“Since women aren’t usually allowed on the frontlines, we came up with the idea that we should doll you up as much as we can under the presentation decorum,” Ran explained. “Maybe that way, Lord Uchiha will reconsider buying you!”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Hasuri asked.

“Even if it doesn’t, at least you’ll be nice and clean!” Ran smiled.

“It will work! I’m sure of it!” Shirayuri declared.

 _‘Somehow, I doubt it. If anything, I can only hope that he’ll just think I’m fastidious and shallow and believe I’m not worth it,’_ Hasuri thought. _‘There’s no use in thinking about this. What happens tomorrow happens. I should just enjoy my moments.’_

Hasuri then leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing Shirayuri to thoroughly wash her hair with soap absorbing the fragrance from the air and water. Ran used those suds that trailed down her back and scrubbed her skin red with the washcloth, causing her skin to roll into numerous, ashen gray bits caught in the cloth. Ran eventually handed the cloth to Hasuri. She dunked the cloth into the water and wrung it out several times before continue to wash the rest of her body. 

Ran returned to the bath with a set of fresh towels and a clean _yukata_ right as Shirayuri rinsed all the soap from Hasuri’s hair. The heat of the hot springs had caused Hasuri’s breath to quicken and become shallow, and she couldn’t tell if it was water or sweat on her skin. She gave a final quick rinse of her skin and wrapped one towel around her body and the other around her hair. She put on her sandals and used the towel over her torso to pat herself dry. Her pale, golden skin had turned a bright pink-red from both the heat and the scrubbing. She dressed herself, but Ran helped to tie her thin _obi_ around her waist. They then headed back to the house.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two now,” Ran said at the sliding doors of the girls’ room. “Good night, Hasu. Good night, Yuri.”

“Good night, Aunt Ran.” The two girls then bowed their heads. 

Shirayuri then turned to Hasuri and said, “C’mon! I need to put oils on your hair or else it gets all tangled and crunchy! And then I’ll fan it dry for you!”

Hasuri couldn’t help but chuckle at her sister’s eagerness. 

“Seriously, Yuri, you don’t have to do all this,” she said as she sat down on the cushion in front of the mirrored vanity table, removing the towel from her hair and beginning to sandwich her hair with it to dry it. 

She reached for the bottle of fragrant oils, but her sister slapped her hand and wagged her finger in her face, saying, “Ah-ah! I _want_ to do this for you. You always did it for me! I’m just paying back a little.”

“I don’t _want_ payback,” Hasuri said as Shirayuri twisted open the glass bottle and poured a small amount of the oil into the palm of her hand. 

She placed the bottle on the floor and rubbed her hands together before running her slicked fingers through Hasuri’s damp hair that fell to her waist, barely tickling the edge of the cushion she sat on. 

“I know you don’t,” Shirayuri continued. “And that makes me want to do it even more.”

Hasuri just stared at herself in the mirror, breaking eye contact with her reflection as she closed her eyes and sighed. She see the top of Shirayuri’s head behind her shoulders, and that was only because Hasuri chose to sit completely cross-legged while Shirayuri sat on her heels, the balls of her feet and her toes making contact with the earth while the arches of her feet remained exposed to the air. 

Shirayuri began to comb Hasuri’s hair with her fingers, occasionally hitting some pesky tangles. Luckily, Shirayuri was always delicate, so Hasuri didn’t feel any sort of tug or pain along her scalp. Once her sister’s fingers ran through her hair without any tangles, Shirayuri reached for a real comb made of wood and a paper fan. She held the comb upwards and placed it beneath Hasuri’s mane of black, allowing the teeth to rise up through her hair like little seedlings breaking free from the earth. From scalp to end, Shirayuri slowly ran the comb down the length of Hasuri’s hair, fanning it along the way. Hasuri often did this for her younger sister, but Shirayuri’s hair was far thinner and softer than Hasuri’s, so this process would be done quickly, with Hasuri only doing about ten or so rounds of this method of drying. 

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how much time Shirayuri needed to do this method on her. 

“So, did Uncle Niwaki tell you which clan is coming tomorrow?” Shirayuri asked over the beating of the fan.

“The Uchiha,” Hasuri responded.

“You mean the ones with the scary red eyes?!” Shirayuri shrieked, prompting Hasuri to let out a chuckle.

“It’s called the Sharingan, and I don’t think it’s that scary,” Hasuri countered. “It’s not like their eyes are like that all the time. Now the Byakugan, _that_ is scary. Ghostly white eyes with no pupils or anything.”

“I think it’s pretty!” Shirayuri seemed adamant on winning this battle. She then changed the subject, her defiant tone softening to curiosity. “Did Uncle tell you anything else?”

“Apparently Father’s replacement died, which is why Lord Uchiha is coming back.”

“Oh...who replaced him again? It’s been so long.”

 _‘Two years. It’s only been two years…’_ Hasuri thought before replying, “Cousin Matsu.”

“No wonder Uncle Niwaki and Aunt Ran have been so sad,” said Shirayuri.

Gūzō Matsu was the oldest son of Niwaki and Ran. He had two younger brothers, who were sold to the Senju Clan. Their family was dwindling, but Hasuri took comfort in the fact that she was able to give her aunt Ran the experience of having a daughter; she only hoped that Shirayuri would realize that Aunt Ran would only dote on her even more now. 

If anything, her aunt and uncle might lose themselves completely once Shirayuri was sold to the Senju Clan.

“You wanted to trim your hair, right?” Shirayuri grabbed a pair of shears from a box under the table. 

“I thought you didn’t want my hair to be cut?”

“Well, it’s taking way too long to dry!” Shirayuri stuck her bottom lip out. “Besides! I won’t cut much! If you’re going into battle as the Gūzō for the head Uchiha, then you can’t have hair that’s _too_ long, right?”

Hasuri let out a long, melodic sigh. With a playful roll of her eyes as Shirayuri gathered her hair behind her and tied it in a low ponytail. Shirayuri adjusted the strip of linen until it was the level of her sister’s elbows. Nearly a solid foot of hair to be chopped off. Hasuri just knew she was going to have fun, running her fingers through hair free of knots and tangles at its distal end. 

“Do you think you’ll meet someone there?” Shirayuri asked as she held the shears over the top of the linen loop.

“Meet someone? Of course I’ll meet people there,” Hasuri responded sarcastically.

“You know what I mean!” Shirayuri giggled. “Like a _boy_.”

“Yes, there will definitely be boys there. And men. And girls, and women,” Hasuri continued, causing her sister to laugh even harder. “Don’t laugh too much! You’ll make it uneven!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Shirayuri cleared her throat. Hasuri still heard the smile on her lips, despite blocking the view in the mirror. “But you _know_ what I mean. I think those Uchiha boys will definitely fall for you!”

Hasuri wasn’t sure about that. Her sister and Aunt Ran always told Hasuri that she was beautiful, but it was hard to believe it. Hasuri stood at the height of most men of their clan and towered over every other woman. She had breasts small enough to not make a significant convex through clothing, even when the _obi_ was tied around her body and the fabric pressed against her chest. No man — much less the famed, rugged Uchiha — would fall for her.

Shirayuri then tried to make her gentle, whisper-like voice as deep as possible, which only just sounded like a regular voice of Hasuri’s. Another polar opposite of the sisters. Hasuri always had a voice that was way too loud because of how low her voice was for a girl. Shirayuri’s was as airy and sweet as sugar floss, but Hasuri’s was as rich and warm as a runny egg yolk bursting into broth. Her voice cracked like a pubescent boy’s and boomed when she spoke normally. Hasuri always purposefully pitched her voice to match Shirayuri’s when speaking to adults or strangers in general.

“Why, thank you, Hasuri! You saved my life with your incredible skills!” Shirayuri imitated, causing Hasuri to snicker, bringing her hand, covered by her flowing, baggy sleeve over her mouth. “I will thank you with a kiss!”

Hasuri then let out a guffaw, leaning forward. She noticed the weight at the back of her head suddenly getting lighter. 

“Whoa!” Shirayuri yelped. “You’re so lucky I _barely_ finished cutting when you did that!”

“Sorry!” Hasuri said through her chuckles. “You’ve been reading way too many fairy tales, Yuri.”

Shirayuri then sat up on her knees and held up the cut bundle of hair.

“Ta-da!” She beamed, wagging the damp tress like a ribbon. 

When Hasuri turned around to face her sister in person rather than through a reflection, her black hair, though still slightly damp, swished around her, draping her shoulders and spilling down her front. Shirayuri then gasped, causing Hasuri’s spine to stiffen.

“What? What happened? Is it uneven?” she asked, turning and looking into the mirror again. Shirayuri quickly scooted up behind her, gathering Hasuri’s hair at her back once more. Picking up the fan and comb and resuming the drying process.

“You just look so pretty,” Shirayuri sighed with content. “It makes me scared, considering that whenever a woman is sold to a clan, it’s like she’s marrying in.”

 _‘Only it’s way worse. Worse than you could possibly imagine,’_ Hasuri thought, her fists clenching underneath her pooling sleeves. _‘As much as I want you to stay this innocent, you can’t. The things that might happen to you out there will be terrible.’_

But Hasuri couldn’t bear to bring down the harsh reality of being a sold Gūzō woman. It would only make Shirayuri panic even more, and not even for her future, for _Hasuri._

Once Hasuri’s hair was cool to the touch while still feeling dry, the sisters laid in bed. Shirayuri quickly hugged Hasuri, laying her head on Hasuri’s shoulder. The sisters flipped their hair up from beneath their heads, creating long trails of black off their pillows. 

“Are you nervous, Hasuri?” Shirayuri asked. Not a hint of fatigue in her voice. She was awake as ever. “Your heart’s beating kind of fast.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” she responded. “But there’s a lot of things I’m nervous about.”

“Then...can you sing to me? The lullaby Mother used to sing…”

“Of course.”

Hasuri then moved a hand to Shirayuri’s back and gently patted it as she sang.  
  
_“Sun goes down, and we are here together  
__“Fireflies glow like a thousand charms  
__“Stay with me, and you can dream forever  
__“Right here in my arms tonight…”_

As Hasuri continued onto the next verse, she heard Shirayuri’s faint humming that frequently cut in and out due to how soft her voice was with the weight of sleep dragging her down.  
  
_“It’s magic when you are here beside me  
__“Close your eyes, and let me hold you tight  
__“Everything that I could ever need is  
_ _“Right here in my arms tonight…”_

Silence from her little sister, save for her slow and steady breathing, the cool puffs of air against Hasuri’s skin. Despite it, Hasuri continued singing, ever so gently.  
  
_“My love…  
__“Is always with you, whether near or far_  
_“How sweet…  
__“To hold you right here in my arms tonight…”_

Soon after, Hasuri’s eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and with the warmth and love of her little sister, she fell into a deep, peace slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus points to anyone who recognizes the song LMAO. my CHILDHOOD, man. anyways, real notes:  
> -Matsu is the Japanese word of "pine" (get it, pine tree uh ha ha)  
> -uhhh, that's it for this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Listen while you read: [Erotik, Grieg](https://youtu.be/Za5S_kemChA)

* * *

The protocol for a presentation was simple: hair must be left completely down and unadorned, no makeup except for the red painting of the clan symbol on the forehead, and [a plain white _yukata_](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HLB1sF8sRxnaK1RjSZFtq6zC2VXah/Japanese-Style-Kimono-White-Haori-Women-Cardigan-Traditional-Japanese-Clothes-Japanese-Kimono-Yukata-Japan-Geisha-Costume.jpg_q50.jpg) with the special _haori_ with the clan crest on the back. This applied to both sexes.

Hasuri, fully dressed, sat in front of the mirror again as Shirayuri brushed her newly cut hair.

“It feels so soft now!” Shirayuri beamed, running her fingers through the end inches of Hasuri’s hair. 

“I told you, I needed a trim,” Hasuri said. She reached for the small pot of cream rouge, only for Shirayuri to snatch it first. 

Hasuri sighed, knowing better than to defy her baby sister now. Hasuri turned around to face her sister and completely relaxed her face, slightly massaging her forehead with the middle section of her curled fingers to iron out any possible wrinkles. She closed her eyes as Shirayuri held up her index fingertip coated in rich red. 

Shirayuri poked slightly above the center of Hasuri’s forehead, leaving a decent circle. She then drew an upside “T” beneath the circle, leaving a little bit of space beneath the initial dot. For the T, she flattened her fingertip so that the lines were quite rounded rather than streaks. Using the very tip of her finger, Shirayuri then drew a thin circle starting a little bit beneath the top of the upside “T” and drawing it upwards over the first, filled in circle. 

The [Gūzō Clan symbol](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1nqc1HmrkZF4pKMs_2cgQ5lYcErWc1kl6/view?usp=drivesdk) was meant to resemble a person sitting in meditation with their legs crossed. The initial circle Shirayuri poked was meant to be the head while the stem of the upside “T” was the body and the flattened bottom, the crossed legs. The thin circle was meant to be some circle of chakra around the head. 

Hasuri opened her eyes the moment she felt her sister’s hand withdraw after the final circle. She then looked into the mirror. Perfect, as ever. Shirayuri’s dainty fingers made the symbol look like a stamp rather than a finger paint. Hasuri often used her pinky finger or the very tip of her index finger since her hands were large. Lucky Shirayuri, getting all the beautiful and elegant features. 

“Okay, now massage your lips!” Shirayuri instructed.

“What? Why?” Hasuri asked as she brought three fingertips to her bottom lip and gently wiggled it around, feeling the soft and slick layer of beeswax. “I already used a rice bran wash on my face this morning and scrubbed everything.”

“Aunt Ran says that massaging your lips can make them redder!” Shirayuri explained excitedly, bouncing a little with every word. “Since you can’t have on makeup, this will work!” 

“I don’t know…” Hasuri moved her fingers to her top lip. “Besides, it always looks like I have on makeup since my lips look like duck bills.”

“Hey! My lips are like yours! Does that make us both ducks?!” Shirayuri pouted and folded her arms over her chest.

Hasuri turned to her sister and gently smacked her sister’s jutting bottom lip with the flat of her fingers twice, letting out a throaty, croaking _“quack, quack!”_ with each hit. Her sister’s expression immediately changed, breaking into a bright smile and a brilliant laugh that spread to Hasuri. 

A knock on the closed doors immediately silenced the sisters. 

_“Hasu! It’s time!”_ came Ran’s voice as she slid open the doors. “Lord Uchiha is just about to arrive!”

Hasuri’s face fell. She looked to Shirayuri, who met her gaze with large and sad eyes. She held her sister’s forearms and squeezed them tight, forced a smile, and said, “It’ll be alright. Let’s go.”

With that, the two sisters stood up and followed Ran to the main hall.

* * *

Nineteen-year-old Uchiha Madara walked beside his younger brother, following their father. They had traveled for a whole day to arrive at the Gūzō Clan’s grounds. He only hoped that it was all worth it and that they wouldn’t have to leave empty handed. This was the first time Izuna was accompanying Madara and their father to a presentation of the Gūzō.

According to their father, this was not going to be a regular purchase. At the moment, they could only afford one Gūzō, the best in order to replace Gūzō Matsu, the man who had been using his abilities to protect Madara, Izuna, and their father these past couple years since the death of the Gūzō before Matsu, Gūzō Yanagi, who died protecting the Uchiha Clan with a powerful jutsu that created a powerful, unbreakable wall of chakra that bought the clan enough time to escape. But it cost them the best Gūzō Clan member. How could Lord Niwaki match that?

“Look at this,” Izuna, eighteen, said to Madara as they began to walk over a pier-like bridge over a steaming lake. “They get to live in paradise like this for selling their own clan members! I’d much rather fight.”

“Now, Izuna,” their father began scoldingly. “They have their reasons, and we must be grateful that they’ve blessed us with their abilities.”

“How blessed can they be without the Sharingan?” Izuna muttered.

“Do not underestimate the _Seisaikara,_ ” their father warned. “I will not have this disrespect of Yanagi or his clan. Remember where we are.”

“Yes, Father.” Izuna bowed his head. 

Looking around, seeing the beautiful, homely buildings along a great hot springs against a mountain, Madara couldn’t help but agree with Izuna. True, this place was incredible and the clan never had to draw a single weapon for it, but at what cost? Families being ripped apart, sold like cattle. 

Once the three Uchiha made it to the other end of the bridge, they were greeted by men in white holding swords. The men bowed to the Uchiha. One of them approached and said, “Lord Uchiha. Please, follow us. Lord Niwaki is waiting.”

Madara knew that his father was already extremely familiar with the grounds — or at least, how to get to the head family’s home. 

Still, Madara took the time to glance around. It was already noon, so Madara noticed a group of children all sitting up tall on the group in front of an adult in a building with its doors open. Some people who were walking around had stopped to watch the three foreigners. Surely they knew what it meant when strangers appeared in their peaceful village.

Passing through an archway with opened gates, the Uchiha men entered a courtyard with a wide building in front of them. They ascended the few steps up to the entryway. 

“Leave your weapons,” their father instructed plainly before they passed through the open doors.

They took off their sandals and set their swords (Madara, his _gunbai_ as well, leaning it against the wall) in the foyer and entered the main ceremonial hall. 

Madara noticed a man sitting on a cushion on a rectangular platform at the opposite end of the hall from the entrance. On his left and right were cushions on the ground, occupied by a woman and girl. They were dressed in white, and it made Madara feel as though he was walking in on a mourning period; their sullen faces didn’t help at all with the somber atmosphere.

“Welcome, Tajima,” spoke the seated man as the three Uchiha stood before him.

“Thank you, Niwaki,” their father returned with a slight bow, Madara and Izuna silently following suit. 

The woman beside Lord Niwaki waved with her hand, looking somewhere off to the side. Madara heard the thumping of footsteps behind them. When their father turned around, the boys followed suit. 

A line of white-clad Gūzō with the familiar crest painted in red on their foreheads walked in a single-file line. They turned to face forwards and knelt down, keeping their eyes to the ground. 

“Greetings, Lord Uchiha,” they said in complete unison.

Tajima then walked between Madara and Izuna, placing himself between the presented Gūzō and his sons. Madara scanned each and every person in front of them. There were ten of them. All with black or brown hair of varying lengths and generally straight textures and generally pale, golden skin. Because they were all staring at the ground, he couldn’t really discern much else.

Tajima then paced around the line. He made one complete round in silence before speaking.

“Fortunately for nine of you, our clan can only afford one member,” he began. “So, I must ask. Among you ten, who is the best _Seisaikara_ user?”

For a few seconds, no one moved. Madara could feel the tension in the air amp up. He then noticed the eye movements, then the head movements. Nine heads turning to face one. The unfortunate one then moved their head, glancing side to side. They then bowed their head even further, their elbow-length hair falling towards their front and reaching for the ground. Madara wanted to laugh out of pity. The poor thing. 

His father then walked towards the silently selected Gūzō, slowly like a predator stalking its prey. He stopped just to the left of the person. Madara imagined that their father blocked Izuna’s view of this chosen one, but he himself had a good view. 

“What’s your name?” their father demanded.

“Gūzō Hasuri, sir,” came the response. Distinctly female. A rather breathy voice, as if she had been running. Madara’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Look at me, Gūzō Hasuri,” said Tajima.

A moment of silence as this girl froze. 

“Yes, sir.”

The girl lifted her head, and Madara saw her face clearly, causing his face to relax as he took in her appearance. 

The first thing he noticed were her pink, pouty lips. She had high cheekbones, but her face was far from gaunt, her cheeks appearing both smooth and soft. Her long, black hair shielded the sides of her face, but even so, Madara could see that her features were gentle, nothing angular. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black, color with a natural slim almond shape and a thin fold on her upper eyelids. 

“Niwaki,” Tajima spoke, shattering Madara’s fixed gaze as his father turned around and looked past him to the head of the Gūzō Clan. “Why is this girl here?”

“You seek to replace my son, Matsu, yes?” Niwaki responded. “This _‘girl’_ here is one of my nieces.”

“Nieces?” Tajima squinted and turned back to the girl. “Who were your parents, Gūzō Hasuri?”

“My father was Gūzō Yanagi, and my mother was Gūzō Hinagiku, sir.”

 _‘Gūzō Yanagi?!’_ Madara’s eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowing down again. _‘This is his daughter!?’_

If memory served Madara right, this girl had to have a sister somewhere as Yanagi once told the three of them that he had two young daughters around Madara and Izuna’s ages. Which means that this girl could live up to their expectations..

“Hasuri rivals Yanagi’s skills. She is eighteen years old and can put three grown men under a full _Seisaikara_ ,” Niwaki said. 

“Is that so?” Tajima looked over his shoulder. “Stand up, Gūzō Hasuri.” 

“Yes, sir.”

When she stood up with her head slightly bowed, Madara noticed that he hardly had to even look down at her. In fact, her height was just shy of Izuna’s height. Not bad.

“Your father could use a perfect _Seisaikara_ on two men at the same time and still fight,” Tajima began. “If you can already put three men under at eighteen, then your power is already equal to his. Let us put that to the test.”

Tajima then turned his body to the side, gesturing to Madara and Izuna. The girl followed his hand, and Madara watched as her eyes scanned their faces, starting with him. He looked right into her eyes. She could definitely keep her composure, but her eyes were slightly wide, betraying her anxiety. She broke their gaze to glance at Izuna.

“These are my sons,” Tajima was saying all the while. “Put them under _Seisaikara_ simultaneously _._ ”

The girl’s eyes widened completely. Madara could see the fear and dread in her as she quickly turned to face their father, probably doubting her own ears; however, he remained deadly serious. Eventually, she regained her composure and bowed her head, saying only _“yes, sir”_ before stepping forward. 

Madara watched her approach him and her brother while still keeping her head down. She stood perfectly between them. From her drifted a light floral, tangy fragrance (a perfume? No, it was far too subtle…). Madara watched her close her eyes and heard her take a deep inhale through her nose and exhale through her mouth, her lips slightly puckering. She then held up her hands together, as if in prayer, but her hands were not completely flat against each other, her knuckles bent ever so slightly. 

And then she used the strangest hand seals Madara had ever seen. Without his Sharingan, he couldn’t distinctly make them out, but they weren’t the ones he was familiar with. She ended the hand seal sequence with a clap of her hands, and Madara heard her deeply exhale. She then opened her eyes. Madara felt the sudden surge of chakra in the air. He watched as her hands — long and slim — slowly closed save for her index and middle fingers. He could see the chakra gather at those fingertips. He then followed the billowy sleeves up her arms to her face. He noticed her brows slightly furrowed in what he presumed to be concentration.

He glanced to Izuna, who just stared at the chakra-shrouded fingertips, before looking back to her face. She looked between the two brothers, and by some chance, she locked eyes with him (though he couldn’t read her expression). She then moved downwards the two fingers of her right hand hovering over his face over his eyes. He presumed she did the same for Izuna. 

And then, Madara felt his arms relax and unfold until they were resting at his side. His eyelids followed the motion of her fingers, and he couldn’t even fight to keep them open. The last sensation he felt was his head leaning forward.

* * *

 _‘Thanks for nothing,’_ Hasuri couldn’t resist thinking when her nine clan members left her out to dry against the three Uchiha. _‘Just my luck that they only want_ one…’

When Lord Tajima ordered her to put his sons under her _Seisaikara_ , she had never felt her body become so heavy in her life. So she had to stand in front of two tall, handsome brothers — in front of _everyone._ And _then_ her idiot self couldn’t pry her eyes from the taller brother on her right with the long, messy mane, only for him to look into her eyes. Once she completed the motion for the full (Lord Tajima called it “ _perfect_ ,” which was a strange way of putting it) _Seisaikara_ , the two brothers then started to fall forward. Despite her chakra mixing with theirs and forming the unbreakable layer, she still stepped forward with her arms out to catch them before they leaned too far forward and she wouldn’t be able to counter their weight. Each of her arms stretched over their chests, and her hands placed on their outer shoulders. She felt their lean pectoral and bicep muscles. Her eyes widened and she felt her face grow hot.

She looked up to Uncle Niwaki, Aunt Ran, and Shirayuri sitting in front of her. Niwaki gave her a barely perceptible nod of approval. She glanced at Shirayuri, who just covered her mouth with one of her hands. She then felt the weight of the shorter brother with a long ponytail suddenly lift. She turned her head to see Tajima supporting him.

“I got him. You take Madara,” he said. “Lay him down on his back.”

“Yes, sir.”

 _‘Madara...Uchiha Madara…’_ she noted as she moved her freed left arm around the brother she held onto and knelt down with him in her arms.

She took a moment to look at Madara’s face. Clear, smooth, save for a crease underneath his eyes. 

_‘Wow, I guess washing your face with the blood of your enemies does wonders,’_ she joked, wishing she could tell Shirayuri. 

Suddenly, Tajima stepped behind her. She heard the distinct sounds of blades unsheathing and turned. Indeed, Tajima was holding a sword in each of his hands, the slightly curved blades pointing downwards.

If she was afraid of the head Uchiha telling her to use her own _kekkei genkai_ , then seeing him tower over her with two swords was beyond terror. He raised his arms over his head and brought down the blades directly over his sons’ chests. Hasuri winced, only to hear the sound the metal blades resonated before getting abruptly cut off by them clattering against the floor and Tajima letting out a sharp groan of pain. Hasuri’s eyes flung wide open as she saw a portion of a blade jutting from his side. Hasuri then looked around and saw the other broken blade on the floor several feet away. 

“Tajima!” Niwaki exclaimed, standing up.

“No.” Tajima held up one hand while the other grabbed the broken blade and yanked it out. Hasuri watched in horror as the blade’s blood streaks crawled up about a finger’s length from its end. The black-blue fabric of his long shirt turned even darker as the blood seeped through. “Hasuri, heal me.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Hasuri quickly approached the Uchiha head and held her hands over the stab wound. In a matter of moments, the wound sealed shut, but Tajima’s clothes had a hole and were soaked with blood.

 _“Incredible…”_ She overheard him say under his breath. She looked up, causing him to speak louder. “You’ve proven your worth. Now, undo your jutsu.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hasuri then knelt back down between the two brothers. She then clapped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut to prepare her chakra for _Tokihogusu Kara no Jutsu,_ the antithesis of _Seisaikara_. She then ran her first two fingers over both hands over each of the brothers’ eyes, but rather than moving them down, she moved them up towards their hairlines. The chakra layer surrounding their bodies quickly dissipated. 

_Seisaikara_ used her (the caster’s) chakra and mixed it with the chakra of the brothers (her targets) to create an indestructible layer of chakra over or around either a specific body region (known as _Seisaikara no Jutsu_ ) or the entire body (a full _Seisaikara_ ). When a target was placed under the full _Seisaikara,_ they would fall unconscious due to the amount of chakra needed to circulate outside the body. As such, if the caster was killed, then _Seisaikara_ would naturally break. To break _Seisaikara_ willingly, one had to use _Tokihogusu Kara no Jutsu_ to disrupt the barrier, causing the chakra to return to the target’s body but not the caster’s body. As such, if the caster was killed, then _Seisaikara_ would naturally break.

 _Tokihogusu Kara no Jutsu_ was the first step to _Seisaikara_ and could be learned by anyone, even a non-Gūzō though they had to train much harder if they didn’t have Gūzō blood. _Seisaikara_ only awoke in an individual when the desire to protect someone else’s life overcame the natural instinct of self-preservation. Notable about the undoing jutsu was that whatever hand motions that were used to place _Seisaikara_ on a target had to be done in reverse for _Tokihogusu Kara no Jutsu_ to work. The special hand motion for the full _Seisaikara_ were two fingers over the eyes, as if to close them. 

“Indeed, you are truly the best,” Tajima declared. “Only Yanagi and Niwaki can use one hand seal for the undoing jutsu. That is, until I met you.”

Typically, the hand seals for _Tokihogusu Kara no Jutsu_ were the opposite of _Seisaikara_ ’s, but Hasuri had trained and refined her chakra control so that she only had to use the final hand seal, following her father and uncle’s footsteps. 

“Your mind is made up then?” Niwaki asked.

“Yes,” Tajima confirmed.

“Very well. Let us discuss the transaction in private. You are all dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!”

The fortunate nine Gūzō members then stood up and walked out. 

“Hasuri, go prepare your things,” Niwaki instructed as he stood up. “Let your aunt take care of the boys.”

“Yes, sir.”

Right as Hasuri began to stand, she glanced at the two brothers. The one with the long ponytail still had his eyes closed, but she saw his head begin to stir. When she moved to look at Madara, she didn’t expect him to already open his eyes, much less be looking at her. She quickly faced forward and stood as Ran approached. Shirayuri was also standing by. She had never been so relieved; she imagined her face was as red as the rouge on her forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, the arrival of madaddyra. notes:  
> -Yanagi means "willow" in Japanese  
> -Hinagiku means "daisy"


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Listen while you read: [Arietta, Grieg](https://youtu.be/5TbQftYOKms)

* * *

“You should’ve _seen_ your face!” Shirayuri laughed, laying on the floor as Hasuri folded a few sets of clothing. 

“Don’t remind me,” Hasuri grumbled. 

“Even _you_ , my cool big sister, thinks that these Uchiha brothers are handsome!” Shirayuri rolled onto her stomach with her hands on her chin. 

“And you don’t?” Hasuri tried to defend herself.

“I mean they _are_ , but they’re so serious! They scare me!”

Hasuri sighed, leaning her head forward. When that troublesome lock of hair fell in front of her face, she brushed it behind her ear, adding a comb, boar bristle brush, a new pot of rouge (Shirayuri insisted on her taking a new one), and a soft bristled brush for her teeth. She also took her _tessen,_ her folding war fan with iron blade spokes covered in a thick, white paper with the ends made of a white-lacquered wood with golden etchings. The fan also had a tassel of white. 

“You _have_ to be careful, Hasu!” Shirayuri demanded as she tied the bundle of cloth around Hasuri’s belongings. 

“I promise, I will. _You_ have to train hard,” Hasuri said. “You’re sixteen now. You’re not a child anymore, even if you look like it. You need to be stronger. Train to be better than me.”

“I will!” Shirayuri declared. “I know I won’t ever be stronger than you, Hasu, but I won’t give up!”

With a smile, Hasuri embraced her sister. When she withdrew, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, performed the sacred four hand seals, and clapped her hands together.

 _‘Seisaikara!’_ she thought as she channeled a portion of chakra into the palm of her right hand. 

She placed her hand over Shirayuri’s chest, right over her heart. She manipulated her chakra, envisioning it surrounding her sister’s heart and enveloping the precious organ. Once she severed the flow of chakra from her hand, she then opened her eyes and held her sister’s hand.

“This way, I can still protect you,” Hasuri said. 

“Thank you, Hasu!” Shirayuri threw herself into her big sister’s arms. “I won’t let you down! I won’t get myself hurt!”

Hasuri only chuckled softly. 

_‘If only it were that easy…’_

_“Hasu,”_ Ran’s voice came through the doors. _“Lord Uchiha is waiting for you!”_

“Yes, ma’am!” Hasuri called back, getting to her feet.

“Wait, your hair!” Shirayuri jumped up. “Aren’t you going to tie it back?”

Hasuri glanced down to the thin strip of linen tied around her left wrist. Perhaps not yet. She wanted to use her thick hair as a shield against these dashing Uchiha brothers. 

“No, not yet, I won’t. Maybe if I’m walking and it gets too hot, I will,” Hasuri said. 

She watched her sister and aunt exchange a smile, and she realized her mistake. 

Shirayuri and Ran always hated when Hasuri put her hair back into her usual low ponytail, saying she looked like a grandmother. Leaving her hair down, according to them, was the pinnacle of her so-called beauty. 

_‘Great...they all saw me turn beet red because of them, and now they think I’m trying to impress them…’_

She planted a final kiss on her sister and aunt’s cheeks before following her aunt back to the main ceremonial hall.

* * *

“Hasuri, these are my sons,” Tajima said once the girl stood before the three Uchiha and bowed. “Madara and Izuna.”

Each brother bowed their heads slightly in response to their name. This ever-obedient girl bowed her head _again_ to return the greeting.

“You will attend to them as their personal medic and use your abilities only on them,” he continued. “You will be considered not as a slave or servant but a member of the Uchiha. Even among your fellow clan members with us, you will be treated with great respect as Yanagi’s daughter and Niwaki’s niece.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Finally, a new sentence from her. Madara was getting tired of hearing only _“yes, sir.”_ Was this truly Yanagi’s daughter? The one that was supposed to be stubborn and loud, as Yanagi said? Or perhaps this was the small, quiet one. But this girl was rather tall...

“I have no doubt that you will treat her well,” Niwaki said, shaking Tajima’s hand. He turned to his niece and said, “Do your best, Hasuri. Make us proud.”

“Yes, sir.” She bowed her head. “Goodbye, Uncle.”

With a curt nod, Niwaki stood back as Tajima turned around, Madara and Izuna following and the girl behind them. At the foyer, the four of them put on their sandals and the three men gathered their weapons. Madara noticed as she waved to the three Gūzō members on the opposite end of the room before grabbing his _gunbai._

 _‘Success,’_ Madara declared to himself as he walked through the Gūzō settlement. By now, more people had gathered in the streets to witness their member — allegedly, one of the most talented members — leaving them, being ripped from them. 

Madara looked over his shoulder, half-expecting her head to be tilted down towards the ground, her hair framing her face. Surprisingly, her head was rather level, though her eyes gazed somewhat downwards but still ahead. She looked rather sad, if Madara had to guess. Her long hair was still behind her shoulders, though the outer locks spread outwards towards her shoulders, threatening to wrap all the way around to her front. Once they had all crossed the bridge, they began to run.

 _‘Let’s see how long you can keep up,’_ Madara challenged in his head. 

Not surprisingly, by nightfall, the girl seemed exhausted. Their father had planned on setting a small camp overnight and heading out during sunrise. At some point, she tied her hair back into a ponytail much like Izuna’s, but by now, whatever was holding her hair up had fallen a little past her shoulders, causing the upper part of her hair to slightly puff out. The sweat on the girl’s face caused her hair to stick to her forehead. Thin streaks of red over her skin told Madara that she had been brushing the hair out of her face a lot. 

She was already fast asleep, using her bundle of belongings as a pillow. 

“Is she _really_ Yanagi’s daughter?” Izuna asked, poking the campfire with a stick. “The strongest of their clan?”

“You were under her jutsu, so you couldn’t see her power,” Tajima said, leaning back against a tree trunk. “Her skills are much like Yanagi’s. You will see when we get back home.”

Madara wondered about that. The blood on his father’s shirt had long dried, but he couldn’t pinpoint any specific injury. Apparently, her _Seisaikara_ broke their father’s two swords, causing one of the blades to impale him, and she used medical ninjutsu to heal him. He even mentioned that the healing was faster than Yanagi’s, which Madara highly doubted. It had been two years since Yanagi sacrificed himself for the Uchiha, so his father probably already forgot what a true _Seisaikara_ master was like.

“Speaking of when we get back, try not to make her feel too uncomfortable with your...special guests,” their father advised.

Izuna glanced at Madara with raised brows and a smirk on his face. Madara resisted his own lips curling back, but he still lifted one of his brows.

“Don’t worry, Father,” Madara responded, repressing as much of his snark as he could. “We’ll try and keep it down for her.”

He could be perfectly silent if he wanted. Now, as for the women, he couldn’t make the same promise. Some preferred to be gagged, but not all. Sure, he did often place his hand over their mouths if they were getting _too_ loud, but he enjoyed the sounds far too much. Music to his ears.

For a fleeting moment, a deep crevice of his mind wanted to make _her_ sing, this girl that had just joined them. But where was the fun in that? True, Madara liked his women under the mercy of his command, but so far, this Hasuri girl seemed far too meek and timid for his liking. 

But who was he to judge so soon? After all, the poor thing had been ripped from the only home she had ever known, sold to complete strangers with a reputation written in blood. And, he had to accept that she was Yanagi’s daughter. She _did_ simultaneously put him and Izuna under her jutsu that broke their father’s weapons _and_ healed him. Most Gūzō men among the Uchiha Clan struggled to stand after putting one person under the perfect _Seisaikara_. 

Yanagi earned Madara’s unwavering respect. He had never met someone who gave his life for an entire clan he had little connection with beyond three people. Could Hasuri live up to that expectation? How could she when women weren’t even allowed on the battlefield? How could she even prove that she was worth their time, effort, and money if she wasn’t even going to be there when they needed her most?

Yet despite these cold thoughts, he couldn’t help constantly looking over his shoulder once they headed back home the next morning. He didn’t know what he was looking for when he glanced upon her face. Probably _anything_ other than that terribly somber expression, which was only accentuated by her all-white clothing. 

Perhaps the Gūzō Clan always wore white since they were constantly mourning the loss of their members, be it on the battlefield or in their very own village to complete strangers. 

Once back on the Uchiha grounds, everybody welcomed the three members of the head family. Madara noticed the stares at Hasuri as they walked through, and then came the whispers.

_“Is that the replacement Gūzō for Lord Tajima?”_

_“A girl? I thought Lord Tajima wanted a Gūzō for his sons, not a bride!”_

_“Look at her!”_

_“Do you think Madara and Izuna will still call for us now that Lord Tajima bought her?”_

_“Of course! How could she even compare to us Uchiha? Say, who do you think they’ll call in next?”_

_“Lord Tajima is smart! If his sons and that girl produce children, imagine how unstoppable we’d be! The Sharingan and the_ Seisaikara _!”_

Madara felt his skin prick, much to his own surprise. He always considered snide, hushed remarks the telltale sign of inferiority and compensation and so, they weren’t worth the effort of even considering. But something inside him prodded at him, as if trying to come through his skin. He glanced back to Hasuri.

He saw her furrowed brows as she glanced in the direction of the crowd, her head ever so slightly turned. She tilted her head forward, as if she were bowing her head in shame. A strange sensation settled in Madara’s chest and rose up his throat until he could not hold back from opening his mouth and telling her, “Pay them no mind.”

Her head lifted up for a moment, her eyes wide with a child-like wonder and her pink lips parted ever so slightly. Madara even lifted the corners of his lips just a little in an attempt to comfort her. 

Regretting the decision already, he just turned back to face the front. He caught Izuna also turning his head from Hasuri, only to look at Madara inquisitively. He also saw his father looking back at him with a little smile of his own on his face. 

Once they arrived at their house, Tajima showed Hasuri to her room — the one that Yanagi and Matsu used to occupy on the opposite side of the house from Madara’s and Izuna’s, though close to their father’s room.

“Get some rest, Hasuri.” Madara overheard his father say as they headed down the other hall while Izuna and Madara prepared to do some sparring with each other. “Tomorrow, my sons will practice sparring with swords. I want you to be there just in case anything happens.”

“Yes, sir.”

 _“Yessir, yessir,”_ Izuna mocked in a pitched voice as they stepped outside again, causing Madara to chuckle and bring his hand to cover his smile. No, he shouldn’t laugh, but it was just so funny. 

“Give the girl a break,” Madara said, though the smile had yet to fade.

“Since when were you so gallant?” Izuna laughed as he threw the first punch, which Madara blocked easily with his forearm. 

“Their clan’s jutsu works better when they have strong bonds,” Madara explained, going for a kick, only for Izuna to dodge. “So we should be a little nice if we want to survive.”

“We don’t _need_ this chakra armor,” Izuna retorted, aiming for Madara’s face with a feign on his right. Madara saw through it and avoided the true hit. “Maybe others, but not us.”

“It’s always good to plan ahead,” Madara argued as he grabbed Izuna’s forearm mid-punch. 

“Speaking of planning ahead — ha!” Izuna tried to land another punch, but Madara dodged it. “ — who are you going to see tonight?”

Madara half-smiled and scoffed at that question.

“Who knows?” he responded, landing a hit square on his brother’s chest. 

“I bet they’re excited since we’ve been gone for two days,” Izuna said as he put his hands on his knees. Madara assumed he merely knocked the wind out of him; he knew Izuna’s stamina was better than that. 

“I know they are,” Madara responded, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll let you make the first choice.”

“I was thinking Takara,” Izuna said. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She doesn’t seem that upset about Haruo’s death.”

“Well, it _was_ an arranged marriage,” Madara said. “She’s only eighteen, right? And he was, what, thirty?”

“Twenty-nine,” Izuna corrected.

“Close enough.” Madara rolled his eyes. “Plus, you’ve been keeping her company before they were married, so it’s not like she has much reason to be upset.”

“Ah, you’re right.” Izuna stood up straight. “But I shouldn’t get too attached. I should be more like you, Madara. I feel like there isn’t a single woman that you _haven’t_ been with.”

“That’s a lie. I haven’t been with Takara.”

“ _Riiiiight_ , the _one_ woman I actually had to pursue.”

“Oh, _please_ , you did _not_ pursue her. She wanted you from the start and purposefully toyed with you, and you _fell_ for it. You’re only attached because it was a sunk cost.”

“You’re telling me there isn’t a single woman in the clan that you desperately want?” Izuna put his hand on his hips. “I know you keep your cool quite well, Madara, but even I know that’s bullshit.”

“I’m serious.” Madara shifted his weight to one foot. “If you don’t believe me, then fine. If you think you want Takara that badly, then just marry her. Maybe that way she won’t have to raise her future kid under a lie.”

“As if our clan would let her remarry,” Izuna sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t see her then…”

The conversation changed once their next sparring began. Eventually, the brothers stopped to take a trip to the river. Madara used a piece of string to tie his unruly hair back, pushing his long bangs up and out of his face into a high ponytail. When he twisted the circle of string and grabbed the spiky cascade of black, he didn’t pull it all the way through to form a messy loop of a bun.

Madara then leaned down, putting his hands into the river. The clear water felt cool in Madara’s cupped hands. He splashed his face with the water as Izuna filled his canteen. 

“What do you think of that Hasuri girl?” Izuna asked after he took a deep swig. 

“What do _I_ think?” Madara echoed as the water streamed down his face and gathered at his chin to drip back into the river. He wiped his chin with the back of his left hand. “I don’t know enough just yet.”

“Oh, come _on_!” Izuna dramatically laid on his back against the bank. “This isn’t like you, Madara! You always have a first judgment of someone. Come on, what did you think when, say, you first saw her?”

Madara sighed as he peeled off his shirt and splashed the river water against his chest. He’d rather dunk his entire head into the water to drown out Izuna’s questions. 

“She looks soft,” Madara responded after a few minutes of complete silence.

“What?!” Izuna let out a howl of laughter and sat straight up. “Seriously?!”

“Yeah, seriously.” Madara grabbed the canteen at his side and dunked it, the open mouth against the flow of the river. “What did you think then?”

“I’ll admit, I thought she was pretty,” Izuna confessed. “I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t stop looking at her when she was right in front of us.”

“Is that so?” Madara brought his canteen to his lips and poured the water into his mouth.

“Yes! I can’t believe you thought she was _‘soft!’_ ” Izuna put a hand to his forehead. “I mean, maybe she is under that white _yukata._ Though, she does look pretty skinny. Her fingers looked like willow leaves.”

“I don’t mean her body _shape_ ,” Madara clarified. “I just mean her features were soft.”

“Uh-huh.” Izuna put his chin on the base of the palms of his hands, his fingers resting along the sides of his face to perfectly frame his cheeky smirk. “Sure, _that’s_ what you meant.”

“You can think whatever you want,” Madara said as he stood up and slung his shirt over his shoulder. “We’re heading back. I wonder if Father made her cook something for us. He probably went out hunting for fresh meat.”

“Oh, you’re right! I’m getting hungry. I hope she can cook well…”

Madara tuned out Izuna as they headed back for their house. 

_‘Soft…’_ he thought. _‘I bet her lips are soft…’_


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Listen while you read: [Claire de Lune, Debussy](https://youtu.be/O2deXwf4drE)

* * *

Hasuri couldn’t sleep that night. She felt so cold without her little sister’s warmth, so she clutched the extra pillow, feeling its coolness against her check. That assuaged only one conflict.

The other was the fact that both Uchiha brothers had guests over for the night — women guests. Even though Hasuri’s room was on the opposite side of the house, the grunts and moans still floated in, muffled through the walls and doors. It was impossible to sleep. She sat up, the ends of her hair still slightly damp from her river bath (she was grateful for Shirayuri somehow sneaking in a full bottle of the hair oils mixture and since her hair was significantly shorter, she used a small dot instead of a palmful). Her forehead was finally clear of the day old rouge. She felt a little cleaner (better than soaking in her own sweat from the day of traveling she just endured). 

She stood up and opened the doors to her room. She had to get out of this house while Madara and Izuna were... _enjoying_ themselves. 

She walked down the dark halls with her right hand brushing against the wall until she walked out of a side door. She noticed the light of a lamp in a stretch of grass outside the cleared grounds surrounding the house and saw Lord Tajima on a low stool with a matching table. Hasuri figured that was the best place to go, to have someone to talk to to drown out the sounds. Way better than off into the night alone.

As she approached, Lord Tajima spoke without turning his head.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice surprisingly warm for how stoic she had been accustomed to. “Homesick, or were the boys too loud?”

“A bit of both, sir,” Hasuri responded.

“Come, have a seat, Hasuri.” Tajima held out his hand to the stool on the opposite side of the table.

She noticed the vase-like _tokkuri_ and two small _ochoko_ cups, both made of a smooth white ceramic.

“Would you like some _sake_?” he asked her.

“No, sir,” she denied with a gentle shake of her hand, though she still picked up the _tokkuri_ and refilled his cup. She then added, “It sounds like you’ll be having grandchildren soon.”

Tajima let out a single dry chuckle, sighed, and said, “Your father said the exact same thing when Madara first invited his first special friend.”

He took another sip of _sake_ before clearing his throat and continuing on with, “But it seems that I already have many grandchildren. I just don’t know who or where they are since Madara and Izuna are both still bachelors.”

“Oh.” Hasuri couldn’t hold back her guttural reaction. Still bachelors? They didn’t _sound_ like they were still unmarried men. 

Tajima sounded so sad, and it broke her heart. She then tried to cover up her sound with a question.

“Are the women from a brothel? We aren’t near a large town or anything,” she said.

“Oh, no!” Tajima laughed raspily. “These women are all from our clan.”

_‘Oh…’_

“Forgive me, sir, but you said you didn’t know who or where your grandchildren were. How could that be if their mother — or mother _s_ — are part of your clan?” Hasuri refilled his cup.

“No need to be so formal, Hasuri. Your father and I were good friends after all,” Tajima sighed before taking another sip. “To answer your question, it’s because girls their age — _your_ age — are already married off. In fact, I was only a few years older than Madara when I married and had him.”

Now that _really_ took her mind for spin. The whispers she heard as she walked through the grounds made much more sense now. But the answer itself deeply troubled her. 

“Why would you let your sons do that? Wouldn’t that ruin all the marriages?”

“They have lived a life knowing nothing but war. They’re married to the battlefield. I feel guilty if I do not let them do as they please during their free time. Besides, I’ve seen Madara take in a few widows a little younger than me.”

Tajima let out a chuckle; Hasuri was too appalled to even muster the courtesy to reciprocate.

“But surely this would cause problems in the future, right?” she asked. “What if two of your grandchildren never knew they shared a father and fell in love?”

“Your clan does things quite differently. If my memory serves me right, then your mother came from a different clan. Your father's mother also came from a different clan. You may not be familiar with ‘pure’ blood and its importance for our Sharingan,” Tajima responded. “Frankly, I am more relieved that my bloodline will run strong in the future. And, of course, there’s no guarantee that _all_ of these future children will survive. And besides, this _intermixing_ is quite common. Has been for generations.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but I just can’t imagine me or anyone else doing that,” she said. 

“Your clan and mine does things differently. I would never sell my clan members out to other clans, for instance,” Tajima pointed out. 

“I wouldn’t either. Perhaps my uncle can bear such things, but I can’t,” Hasuri admitted.

“Niwaki is a man devoted to peace,” Tajima sighed. “I can understand that, but I can’t even begin to imagine selling Madara the way he sold Matsu to us. Selling my own brother, maybe, but not my oldest son. In any event, I’m grateful that my sons still have enough vitality for their long nights.”

“But why not get them married? Surely that way, they can act freely and you can have your grandchildren close to you.”

“They are bold, free spirits,” Tajima sighed. “It’s definitely my fault for letting them run wild, but I cannot bring myself to stop them. They’re grown men, and by this point, they are old enough to be responsible for their actions. I’m more worried about whether or not we survive another day on the field. I’ve already had to bury three sons.”

Hasuri hung her head. While she couldn’t agree with Tajima, she understood where he was coming from. Life for the warring clans was not truly living, just surviving. Her life with her sister, uncle, and aunt was truly a blessing that she never knew war despite losing her mother and father to it. 

“It sounds like they’re done,” Tajima said, setting down his _ochoko_ on the table.

Hasuri looked over her shoulder and saw two young women saunter out of the house several yards behind them. She could hear faint giggles from them as they skipped back to where more houses were. 

“Walk with me, Hasuri,” Tajima said as he prepared to stand up.

Though she knew he was still strong, she still grabbed his forearm out of courtesy and helped him up. 

“Thank you,” he said to her, and they began to walk back to the house with Hasuri a little bit behind him. “You know, long ago, Yanagi once told me that in a different world, he’d like to imagine my sons and his daughters being childhood sweethearts.”

“Really?” Hasuri asked. From what she remembered, her father was never one to be so daydreamy; he was a man hardened by reality.

“Yes.” Tajima chuckled. “I told him then that it was quite the whimsical thought but also a nice one. But it is through this world that Yanagi and I had the fortune of meeting and becoming friends. I doubt in a peaceful world, we would even know the other existed.

“He even came up with a story. You and Madara would fight and tease each other constantly, according to him, but deep down, you two truly loved each other. Your sister would be too timid to interact with Izuna, but he would keep making advances believing that she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. Of course, that was long ago.”

“Did he say anything else about me and my sister?” Hasuri asked.

“He told us you were loud for a girl and hard headed, too. But you always protected your sister, who was the exact opposite. He even said you once kicked an older boy for trying to pick on her.”

Hasuri remembered that. She had to be about eleven, and Shirayuri nine, and their father left the clan when she was twelve. She only chuckled sheepishly in response.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you are not the Hasuri he planted in my head,” Tajima said, his smile suggesting that this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “But your strength has far exceeded my expectations. Now, get some rest. Don’t worry about waking up early.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hasuri bowed her head slightly before parting ways with the head Uchiha. 

As she closed the door behind her, she simply sat down on the ground, her chin on her knees and her back against the _shōji_ doors. Talking about her father brought back the bitter memories of the day he left. She closed her eyes and saw her father’s kind yet tired face as he put his hands on her shoulders.

_“Stay strong, Hasu. And help Yuri be strong as you for me, alright?”_

_“Do you really have to go? Mother made you promise to make us strong!”_

_“You_ are _strong. And now, I’m passing your mother’s promise to you for Yuri. She only listens to you anyway.”_

Hasuri placed her hand on the top of her head, almost feeling the warmth of her father’s hand when he ruffled her hair for the last time. She remembered his comforting embrace as she and Shirayuri ran into their father’s arms, her little sister begging him not to leave while Hasuri shed her silent tears. She remembered standing at the end of the bridge and watched her father disappear into the steam of the hot spring lake as he crossed — the very bridge she crossed just yesterday. 

Eventually, Hasuri crawled to her bed, drew the blanket over her, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Two days later, the Uchiha were called to the battlefield. And then Tajima dropped the news that stunned the three young adults: he would not be using Hasuri’s _Seisaikara_. Instead, he wanted her to focus as much of her strength into Madara and Izuna while he relied on a male Gūzō, who was able to be on the battlefield at all costs.

“Don’t you need it more than us?!” Izuna exclaimed.

“I will be fine. We need to use as much of her chakra as possible since you two don’t like the full-armor type,” Tajima said. 

Madara hung his head. He didn’t have to ridicule them for it. The _Seisaikara_ armor completely devoid them of their sense of fighting — what made it so much _fun._ Besides, the girl herself admitted it was much harder to sustain the armor version since she had to leave open spots on the joints and palms and soles of the hands and feet in order for them to keep their mobility. Frankly, Madara believed he made the right decision, opting the minimalist protection of the heart and neck. 

So, that morning when the sun had yet to rise, the three men were gearing up while Hasuri sat idly by until they were ready for her _Seisaikara._

They stood in front of her, and Madara observed as she rose. Her forehead was bare and rid of the red markings of her clan. She didn’t wear the _haori_ with the crest on the back, but she still wore a tightly-wrapped white _yukata_ around her body. Her dark hair was left down, and Madara noticed some slight mottling. She probably didn’t have a chance to brush it out. 

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and performed the hand seals. Madara sensed the chakra concentrating in her hands. She placed each of her hands on their chests, directly over their hearts. 

Her touch was gentle yet present. Madara kept his eyes on her face, noticing the concentrative furrow of her brows as she poured and molded her chakra around their hearts. Slowly, her hands crawled up their chests as her thumbs opened up until they were gently against their necks. 

The sensation alone was enough to remind Madara of his many, many salacious nights. He looked to Izuna with a raised brow, who met his gaze with a smirk, silently exchanging a joke: _“Aren’t we supposed to be the ones doing this?”_

She then opened her eyes and removed her hands, stepping back with a slight bow of her head. Madara craned his neck from back to front, side to side. Usually _Seisaikara_ was immobile, but he had full head and neck movement. Maybe this girl really was something special, indeed inheriting her father’s power. Matsu before her couldn’t accomplish such a feat.

“Let’s head out,” their father declared. 

Madara and Izuna let out a single confirming grunt. Madara gripped the handle of his _gunbai_ and followed his father out. He heard the more gentle footsteps of Hasuri following them. Once they were outside and joining the rest of their clan that had already gathered in the clearing in front of their house, Madara glanced over his shoulder, seeing her stand in the open door with her hands against the frame. 

It was strangely comforting to see her there. Oddly reassuring to have someone living in their house while they were out fighting. He found another reason to look forward to coming home. 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Listen while you read: [Symphony No. 7, Movement 2 — Allegretto, Beethoven arr. Liszt](https://youtu.be/615-x6REIhA)

* * *

The rain came down in gentle drops, the sky blanketed in a light gray. Madara and Izuna stood before the freshly buried grave with Hasuri a few yards behind them. Behind her was the rest of the Uchiha Clan. A sea of white underneath the blanket of ashen gray. 

Hasuri lifted her gaze from the gaze to look at the two brothers’ backs. They stood coldly still. Which she understood. They were forged by war, well-acquainted and even danced with death. But still, this was their _father._ Or maybe exactly because it was their father that they remained unwavering. 

And even though she had only been with the Uchiha Clan for about a week (and only about two of those days were Tajima, Madara, and Izuna home), Tajima’s death placed a great weight in her chest. He knew her father, and his stories were enough to make her feel as though he was still here. But Tajima was gone, and those memories and stories died with him, buried forever in the earth before them with the rest of his fallen clan members.

A member of Hasuri’s clan was buried in the plot next to him, but Hasuri never knew him. The only thing she knew for certain was that her clan member had to have been killed first, and then Tajima after him once the _Seisaikara_ broke. She cursed herself. Why did Lord Tajima tell her to not use her chakra on him? She had plenty of strength throughout the five days they were gone. She should have insisted or done it anyway, even though his resistance may have weakened the chakra barrier. But she would have fought, and the barrier would have remained strong. 

Suddenly, Madara turned around, followed by Izuna. They began to step towards Hasuri, and she stepped to the side, allowing them to walk by before she followed them promptly. The clan kept their heads bowed as the two Uchiha brothers walked past wordlessly. 

Hours later, during dinner, the brothers had guests — _regular_ guests. Two men that she didn’t quite recognize, but they swung by before Hasuri began cooking dinner, so she knew to make extra plates. Setting down the food at the table, Hasuri then sat beside Izuna while Madara at the head of the table on Izuna’s right. To Hasuri’s left was the other head of the table, where the older man sat. Across from Izuna and Hasuri was the younger man.

“So, Uncle Tsutsui,” Madara began. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve come to express my condolences. After all, Tajima was my older brother,” the man named Tsutsui said. “You two are my only nephews after all, practically Ichirai’s brothers.”

 _‘Ichirai…’_ Hasuri took a glance at the young man across the table, only to see him already staring at her with his face angled towards the table and his eyes looking up at her. Hasuri gulped. She didn’t appreciate that look one bit.

“Surely, Uncle, you know we’ll be fine,” Izuna reassured. “But thank you. We appreciate it. We could use your support when Madara becomes the head — ”

“That is also why I’ve come,” Tsutsui interrupted. “You boys have proven time and time again that you are our clan’s strongest warriors. But you two are still young and not even married. Thanks to all this fighting, how could you have time to raise your own heirs while serving our clan on the battlefield?”

“What are you saying?” Hasuri noticed Madara’s left eye squint, his hair hiding his right, and his fists clenching.

“I think it best if _I_ took the position of clan leader,” Tsutsui announced. “Ichirai’s wife is expecting soon, so our bloodline will be secured.”

“That’s _bullshit!”_ Madara slammed his hands on the table, his voice raising but not near yelling. “Our father was the clan leader, so _I_ will inherit it! You said so yourself, I’m young. I can still find a wife and carry on the bloodline, as you say.”

Hasuri glanced at Izuna, who just kept his head down as he frowned at the table. She had a growing suspicion that Ichirai’s child was either his or Madara’s.

“Nonsense,” Tsutsui continued. “You worry yourself with the battlefield. Your father always said you two were married to it anyway. Imagine the chaos if you two died! The pain I would feel would be like losing Ichirai! If you so want, we can put this to the vote at the next clan meeting. Tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, let’s,” Madara agreed in a growl, his left eye glaring at his uncle. 

“Then let us continue eating!” Izuna piped in, trying to lighten the tense mood. 

That night, Hasuri couldn’t sleep. Madara and Izuna were at it _again._ How they weren’t exhausted after coming home from a battle and losing their father, she couldn’t comprehend. But who was she to stop them? They were frustrated with this family, clan drama that their uncle had dropped upon them. She sighed and sat up and walked out of the house, gently sliding the doors shut. She then made her way into the forest and knelt before Tajima’s grave. 

_‘What would you have wanted?’_ she asked him in her head. _‘Surely you would have wanted Madara to succeed, right? If Uncle Niwaki was killed, would my father try and take the title away from Matsu if they were still alive? Would you know the answer? Did you ever discuss it with Father? Who would you pick between your son and your brother? Surely your son, right? You said so yourself. You couldn’t imagine selling Madara but you could imagine selling your brother…’_

* * *

In front of the sacred Stone Tablet, the entire clan took a vote. Madara or Tsutsui. The results were a complete split. And then Tsutsui started speaking, bringing up Madara’s youth (to Madara, it sounded like he was implying that Madara wasn’t experienced for a leadership role like the head of the clan) and his vigor on the frontlines (making Madara sound like he was marching to his death every time). He then drew upon Tajima’s death, saying that he was the younger brother and viewed Madara and Izuna as his own sons, that only he knew what it meant to be a ruler of the house so he could handle the clan. 

And just like that, Madara’s chances vanished. Many of his clansmen even told him that it would be better if Tsutsui was the leader, and Madara held back the urge to yell at them all. 

_‘If you do this, there’s no turning back!’_ he wanted to shout. _‘The bloodline will be in_ his _name, not my father’s!’_

Izuna put his hand on his shoulder, and Madara met his comforting gaze. His anger ebbed away, but the frustration was still there. 

_“Let him,”_ Izuna said. _“He’s getting old. He’ll die, and you can claim the position before Ichirai!”_

Madara furrowed his brows slightly, considering the situation. Yes, that did sound like a good plan, but there were still risks with that. How could they make sure Ichirai wouldn’t claim it, should Tsutsui die? 

“Alright,” Madara said, holding his hands up. “I concede. I will allow my uncle to take the position of clan leader amicably.”

Polite applause then filled the room. Madara turned to his uncle and held out his hand. His uncle returned the gesture, grasping each other’s forearms and shaking it once. 

“Rest assured, Madara,” Tsutsui said with a warm smile. “I will frequently discuss with you and Izuna.”

With the meeting dismissed, many commended Madara’s gesture, which just felt like poking the bruise on his pride. As he and Izuna were heading back to their home, Ichirai stopped them.

“So, now that my father’s the clan leader, you need to hand over the girl,” he said.

“What?” Madara turned, his voice coming out in a hiss.

“She’s the best Gūzō your father could afford, right?” Their cousin folded his arms over his chest. “Replacement for the other two, who were also the strongest? Well, since my father’s the clan leader, we need her.”

“Don’t you already have a Gūzō? If you want a new one so bad, why don’t you go and buy one yourself?” Madara snapped, turning and slightly bending down to meet his cousin, eye to eye. “Hasuri is with _us._ ”

With that, Madara stormed off, his brother in tow. Back at the house, Madara noticed the yellow light pour out from the open door. Hasuri was there, sitting on her knees as she used her white folding fan against her face, causing the long locks that framed her face to gently wave in the conjured breeze. 

“Now Ichirai will definitely be after her,” Izuna warned.

“I’d like to see him try,” Madara retorted. “He doesn’t want her for her skills. He wants to make her a second wife.”

“You don’t think either of them know the truth about — ”

“No, no way,” Madara interrupted. “Otherwise, they’d be upfront about it.”

As they ascended the steps, Hasuri stood up, her fan closing with a satisfying shutter.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Our uncle won,” Izuna informed. 

“Oh…” Madara saw as her head tilted to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Madara told her. “This is far beyond your control.”

Madara caught the movement of her mouth as she bit her bottom lip and her eyebrows scrunched together. Surely, she wasn’t feeling guilty over him losing the position of clan leader?

Either way, Madara chose to pay it no mind. 

“Come on,” he said to her. “Let’s go inside. Were you waiting long?”

She silently shook her head as she allowed the brothers to enter the house first, closing the door after them as she stepped inside. 

“So what’s going to happen now that your uncle is the leader?” she asked as she sat on the step of the _genkan_ entryway.

“We continue as ever,” Madara responded. “Don’t worry about it. If anything happens, Izuna and I will handle it.”

She looked up at him with the biggest eyes he had ever seen. Like pools of night, the stars swimming across them. They were not wide out of fear; her pupils were in fact quite dilated. There was a sort of awestruck wonder in them, and Madara wanted to know what she was thinking. 

“We’ll be taking a rest day tomorrow,” he said to her as he brushed by. “So don’t worry about getting up early.”

“Yes, sir.”

That night, Madara returned to the shrine and to the Stone Tablet, unable to shake his frustration. Not only that, but his eyes had been under an incredible discomfort ever since his father died. No bedfellow could ease this. He figured that if he was going to be awake, he’d rather do something productive than roll around. 

He sat before the sacred tablet in the subterranean room alone. He activated his Sharingan and gazed upon what little he could read. He never gave it a thorough read before, and he caught words that drew his attention.

_‘Mangekyō Sharingan…’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, more notes!  
> -Since Tajima is the name of a famous warrior monk, I decided to follow that trend. Tsutsui is the name of another warrior monk who fought alongside the real/historical Tajima, and Ichirai is (you guessed it) also a warrior monk who helped Tsutsui fight.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Listen while you read: <https://youtu.be/LvSRELhasbw>

* * *

Madara knelt before his father’s grave, his mind swirling and reeling. The words he read haunted him, and it only further irritated his eyes.

 _‘Father, what does this mean? I lost you, my own father, but my eyes haven’t changed. Is this feeling in them just the beginning?’_ he asked in his head. _‘If losing you was not enough, then who else must I lose?’_

It had been two weeks since Tsutsui’s rise to clan leader. True to his word, he frequented Madara and Izuna’s house with Ichirai for advice, and the brothers were happy to oblige. Madara also made sure Hasuri stayed in her room for two reasons: Tsutsui believed an outsider ( _“a woman outsider, at that”_ ) had no right listening to important clan discussions, and Madara didn’t trust Ichirai, as much as he loved his cousin. The whole time, the words he read off the tablet echoed in the back of his mind, like a demon hissing in his ear.

The irritation in his eyes only increased. Even with Hasuri’s medical ninjutsu, nothing alleviated the discomfort. Izuna had also been enduring the same feeling. 

Madara closed his eyes and sighed, frustrated with himself. And then he sensed the presence of another person approaching. After a few moments, he recognized their chakra. Still, he didn’t say anything until he knew they were actually approaching him and not just passing by. He heard the soft thudding of the footsteps some yards behind him. He noticed that they slowed down as they drew nearer.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked without even looking. 

The footsteps stopped dead in their tracks. A few seconds passed before the reply.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Hasuri. “Am I interrupting?”

“No.”

“May I join you?”

Madara looked over his shoulder, seeing her form in the darkness. He then tilted his head pointedly to one side, silently giving his permission. Hasuri then stepped forward and knelt beside him.

“Something bothering you?” she asked him.

“I should be asking you that,” he returned. “Why would you need to visit a dead man’s grave in the middle of the night?”

“He knew my father. Whenever I spoke with him, it was like my father was with me again,” she said. “It makes me feel less lonely.”

“Why talk to a dead man when you have two living ones in your house?” Madara asked.

“It’s not _my_ house,” Hasuri countered. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to bother you and Izuna. You two seem so busy.”

“Nonsense,” Madara said abruptly. “This house is yours as much as it is mine or Izuna’s. We live together. There should be unity. Doesn’t that help your power?”

“Well...yes.” Her voice sounded hesitant.

“It’s been a month, and it still feels like I don’t know you,” Madara admitted. “That cannot be good for your _Seisaikara._ It must feel like we’re just draining your chakra.”

“You’re not,” she corrected. “As for the first part...I don’t think there’s much to know about me.”

“Impossible,” Madara commented, then looked at her. “Let’s start small. What do you like to do?”

“What I like to do?” she echoed. A pause before she continued. “I like dancing?”

“Is that so?” Madara raised a brow, the corners of his lips pulling back in a quiet smile. “Dance for me, then.”

“No, no!” Hasuri held her hands up and shook them, as if she were fanning away the thought. She smiled nervously, her eyebrows lifting as she chuckled sheepishly. “I never said I was _good_ at dancing!”

“Then what are you good at? And don’t say anything related to your _kekkei genkai._ ”

“Good at…” she trailed off. “Hmm...I don’t know. My sister says I have a nice singing voice, but I think it’s only because I sing to her so she can sleep.”

“So sing something for me then. I’d like to sleep, but you’re aware of my eyes.”

“What if it’s so bad, you just stay awake longer?” Her voice had a slight purr to it, as if she was going to laugh at the end of her sentence. 

“Hum, then. Surely you can’t mess up a hum.”

“Well, now I have to think of a song!”

“Think fast.”

After a few moments of silence, Madara heard the rustling of the branches over their heads die down to silence, allowing the faint chirping of crickets to take center stage. However, they were quickly drowned out by the deep breath from Hasuri and her subsequent humming.

The melody itself was simple. Her first three notes ascended in a scale, the next three repeated the last note, went up a note, and then dipped back down with a jumble of lower notes. Even through closed lips, Madara could feel the gentle undulations of her sustained notes. Any jumps in pitch were smooth and natural. The sound of her hum was rich, not breathy; it had timbre, a strength behind every note no matter its pitch or volume. She definitely knew how to sing, and Madara wanted to know the words of this simple, sweet song. He knew the song was ending when she repeated a particular string of notes, but slowing down the tune until she reached her last note.

In the brief silence between them, the wind picked up again. As if the world held its breath to her humming and finally exhaled. Madara couldn’t blame it. 

“Will you actually sing it now?” he asked.

“Maybe some other time,” she said as she lifted one knee. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll head back to bed.”

“I’ll go with you.” The words tumbled out of Madara’s mouth as he scrambled to his feet. 

“Oh!” A soft, pleasant sound escaped from her lips. “Alright then.”

Madara noticed something white in front of him. He noticed fingertips poking out at the end of the wide sleeves and followed up the arm to meet her smiling gaze. Only then did he realize what was happening; she was offering her arm to help him up. But it wasn’t like he _needed_ any help. So why did he still firmly grasp her forearm and used her gentle tug as extra momentum to pull himself up?

But, of course, he was larger and stronger than her, so right as Madara stood upright, she let out a little cry as she stumbled forward. Madara felt her arm briskly snap out of his grasp as she held her hand in front of her. Her hand pressed against one side of his chest and her cheek against the other. At the same time, Madara’s arm instinctively wrapped around hers, ensuring that her trajectory was towards him and not the ground. 

For a moment, they stayed like that. Madara feared she’d feel the rapid pounding of his heart. Luckily, she pulled away quickly, bowing her head.

“Sorry,” she said in a rushed voice. 

“It’s alright. Let’s just head back.”

Neither of them spoke the entire short walk from the forest back to the house; Madara couldn’t tell if he found the silence relieving or awkward. Their shoulders were mere inches apart, and he could feel the warmth radiating off of her at her side. It strangely comforted him, but he could not ignore the roar of his blood in his ears. 

_‘How pathetic am I?’_ he scolded himself. _‘How many women have I laid with? Why am I feeling like this?’_

He blamed her humming. It was a siren song that had completely enchanted him. Back inside the house, he headed towards his room, parting ways with her. He froze at the warm emergence of her voice.

“Good night, Madara.”

“Ah — ” Madara froze in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, his eyes falling on that tender face. He didn’t expect this, and he had to respond quickly. “Good night.”

He caught her lips stretching back in a gentle smile before he turned and entered his room. He slid the doors shut and leaned against it. He put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. The irritation flared up again. He didn’t even notice when it subsided.

_‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’_

* * *

The Uchiha men had set out on yet another battle, a test of Tsutsui’s leadership abilities in action. Or, at least, that was what Hasuri heard. 

It had been five days since Madara and Izuna left with their clan, and Hasuri figured she’d get things done. She took a basket, gathered her dirty clothes, and wandered to Madara’s and Izuna’s rooms to pick up their clothes they left behind. She then gathered a small sack of soap flakes and put it on the top of the full basket before heading out to the river. 

She pulled out one of Izuna’s shirts (she finally managed to determine the difference between the two brothers’ shirts: Madara’s was more indigo in color while Izuna’s was inching towards gray), rinsed it in the river, and began to scrub in a few flakes of soap, causing the white suds to multiply. She also began to hum, the lyrics running through her head — the same song that she hummed to Madara a week ago.  
  
 _‘Once a lass met a lad  
_ _‘“You’re a gentle one,” said she_  
 _‘In my heart, I’d be glad  
_ _‘If you loved me for me…’_

As she scrubbed, she thought about that night. Mostly when she wasn’t strong enough to resist his pull and ended up leaning against his chest. It was so firm and warm. Hasuri had to physically shake her head from the thought. It was _embarrassing,_ not something to remember wistfully. What was her accidental brush to him, the man whom many women laid their heads against already?

She ran Izuna’s shirt through the river a few times until the water ran completely clear with no soapy froth, wringing it dry and hanging it on the edge of the basket to prevent it from mixed with the dirty, dry clothes. Hasuri then heard some Uchiha women approach with their own laundry to do. However, they kept their distances, isolating her. She expected as much. She also expected their murmurs, which she heard plenty of.

_“Look, it’s her!”_

_“Who? Where?”_

_“Over there! The Gūzō girl.”_

_“Really?”_ A brief pause as they glanced at her (she imagined). _“How can you tell?”_

_“They always wear white as a sign of their peace and neutrality. There’s also the red crest on her back.”_

_“So that’s really her? The so-called strongest in their clan? And doing laundry?”_

_“My sister told me that Madara has stopped seeing women and it’s because of her!”_

Hasuri stopped mid-wash when she heard that. She quickly resumed, realizing her mistake and pretended to still be busy but moved at a slower pace. 

_“You’re kidding!_ Her?! _She’s nothing special other than her_ kekkei genkai!”

_“It’s true! Hanari told me! She was the last one to be with him!”_

_“When was that?”_

_“The night after the funeral of Lord Tajima. She said he was quite intense!”_

_“What?! Lucky girl!”_

Hasuri wrung the shirt in her hands a bit too tightly, causing her arms to tremble. Did they _really_ have to discuss this in public?

 _“It’s a shame. But I doubt Madara actually has eyes for that girl. I mean, just look at her! She’s_ squatting _like a man!”_

 _‘I’m squatting because it’s way less painful than kneeling or sitting!’_ Hasuri resisted the urge to snap. _‘This riverbed is literally covered in rocks!’_

Still, she kept her composure.

_“I know! And look at her hair! Does she not know how to tie hair properly? Look at how low her tie has fallen! She looks like an old lady!”_

That comment reminded her bitterly of her family that she was forced to leave behind. It stung in a different way, causing her to miss Shirayuri and Aunt Ran above anything. Luckily, by that point, the basket was empty, so she pushed all the damp clothes on the edge into the basket, picked the basket up, held it against her waist, and made her way back to the house to hang them up to dry. She couldn’t help but wish she stayed; she wanted to hear more of what those girls had to say. Surely life when the men were off fighting was more interesting than gossiping about the girl who arrived a month ago, but Hasuri had nothing better to do other than dance and train, read the few logs and analytics in books, cook and clean all day. 

Hearing what those girls said about her was like a sweet poison; she knew it was terrible for her health, but she couldn’t get enough of it. But was it truly about hearing what they had to say about _her_ , or what they were saying about Madara and her? 

What if it was true? In the time before they left, Hasuri noticed that the house was a little quieter at night. Halved, to be precise. She figured the activities at night were only between one brother and their partner, and since she left that one night and found Madara at Tajima’s grave, she assumed it was Izuna all along. And now the Uchiha girls were saying that Madara had stopped seeing them entirely. What did it all mean? 

A part of her hoped for something so incredibly naive, she immediately swatted the idea away. No, no, she couldn’t possibly wish for something stupid like that. This was just a silly little infatuation since she didn’t see anyone else around. She was just starved of interaction with other people, and the only people she did have contact with on a routinely basis was Madara and Izuna.

So why was she constantly thinking of only Madara this way? The feeling of him against her cheek. The way his eyes always pierced through her and made her heart race and her cheeks flush. And not to mention his mane and his incredible physique...

Hasuri stuffed her face into the damp fabric she was about to hang up on the clothesline, hiding her beet-red face. If Shirayuri was here, she’d tell her everything. About how she was feeling, how she couldn't get that night out of her head even though she _knew_ it was just an awkward encounter, that there was _no way_ someone like Uchiha Madara would feel something so incredibly childish and naive like what she was feeling. She also knew Shirayuri would never let her hear the end of it.

 _“My big sister_ likes _someone!”_ she could hear in her head. 

Hasuri forced herself away from the shirt she held in her hands — the one she just put her face against. Just her luck. It was a rich indigo shirt with the Uchiha crest on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have once again put in a song from my childhood. i swear they're thematically relevant :') thanks for reading so far, I uploaded the seven chapters in one go, so i hope you enjoyed and will follow along on this long journey!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight content warning for this chapter: violence/killing. it's not that graphic but it is explicit (as in, it's there and it happened)

* * *

Listen while you read: [Lacrimosa, Mozart](https://youtu.be/5Yamu70Z_FI)

* * *

For nearly half a year, Madara supported his uncle during Tsutsui’s reign as Uchiha leader. But he couldn’t ignore the growing bodies of his fellow clansmen every time they came home. Not to mention the frequent trips Tsutsui and Ichirai constantly made to replace the Gūzō of their household. Things came to a head at last when Madara caught Ichirai barging into their house in the middle of the night.

“Bit late for a visit, don’t you think, cousin?” he asked as he stood at the edge of the clearing in front of his house. Ichirai had barely made it into the shadows of the front courtyard.

“Ah, Madara.” Ichirai slowly turned to face him. “Just the person I wanted to speak with!”

“Is that so?” Madara folded his arms over his chest. “What did you want to talk about in the middle of the night?”

“You see, it’s about your Gūzō,” Ichirai began, his voice teeming with an artificial regret as he stepped closer to Madara. “Father and I can’t afford to keep going back to buy a new one. I think it’s time you hand over your Gūzō to us. It’s only natural. She was bought for the head of the clan after all, and that role belongs to my father.”

“She was bought by _my_ father, _for_ my father.” Madara held his ground. “It’s been six months, and she’s getting along with me and Izuna. If she moves to your household, then it won’t bode well for either of you. You know how their _kekkei genkai_ works.”

Madara knew full well that Hasuri could protect Tsutsui and Ichirai just as well as she protected him and his brother, but he knew she wouldn’t want to leave. He didn’t want her to leave. 

“You should’ve handed her over six months ago!” Ichirai hissed. “She would have had time to adjust!”

“Well, it’s out of my hands now. It was not and never will be my decision to make, anyway. Did you ever ask her to move in with you and your father?”

“No. Why would I ever do that?”

“Because this is her life we’re talking about. But if you want to view her like another one of your swords, then let me put this way. How much were you willing to pay me for her?”

“Pay _you?!_ Don’t be ridiculous, Madara! We’re _family._ Are we not supposed to have each other’s backs?”

“We are. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs because we value each other’s lives. And the same goes for Hasuri. She is a part of _our_ household, not yours. It’s _her_ power, not anyone else’s. Come back tomorrow morning and ask her yourself. Get out of my sight, Ichirai. You disgust me.”

“I could say the same to you! You’re probably fucked every woman in this whole village! What makes this whore different from the others?! You and your brother share women, don’t you? Why not share with your cousin?”

“It’s none of your business what me and my brother do. And Hasuri is _not_ a whore. Neither of us have laid a finger on her.” Madara began to walk towards his house, unwilling to entertain this conversation any longer. His blood was starting to boil, but he knew better. “Just go home, Ichirai. Remember your wife and child.”

“You’re one to fucking talk! How many children have you left behind to be raised by their mothers and cuckold fathers?! And you wanted to be the fucking clan leader?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ichirai,” Madara said, walking past his cousin, completely unfazed. In his mind, he thought the situation was quite ironic. If only Ichirai knew that his child was not truly his, but Izuna’s. “Go home. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow with a clear mind.”

“I’ll show you my mind right now!” Ichirai snarled, the sound of dirt grinding together as he charged straight for him.

Madara immediately turned around and caught his cousin’s flying fist with one hand. He saw the dim glow of Ichirai’s Sharingan, which only made him raise a brow. 

“If _this_ is your mind, then there’s nothing for me to see here,” Madara said, pushing his cousin away and continuing back to the house.

 _‘Fucking idiot…’_ Madara thought, hearing his cousin barge off. 

As he stepped inside the foyer and slid off his sandals, he noticed Hasuri walking out of the hallway that led to her bedroom.

“What are you doing up?” he asked her.

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, her pink lips stretching back in a gentle smile. “Where were you?”

He had been reading the Stone Tablet again. Engraving its words in his mind, whatever fragments he could decipher. But he couldn’t tell her that. It was a clan secret. No outsider was allowed to see. 

“I went to the shrine,” he answered, which wasn’t a lie. “Why are you still awake?”

“I heard shouting outside. Is everything alright? It sounded like it got pretty heated.” The concern in her voice made Madara’s own heart twist. 

“It was nothing. I just…” Madara glanced to the side before forcing himself to continue. “Do you want to stay here with us, or would you rather live with Tsutsui and Ichirai?”

“Stay here, of course!” The concern in her eyes turned to fear, and Madara regretted asking in the first place. Still, her answer relieved him. “What’s going on? Are — are you — ”

“Don’t worry,” Madara said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “It’s alright. You’re not going anywhere. I was only curious.”

“That was Ichirai yelling, wasn’t it?” she asked gently, meeting his gaze. At the close quarters he forced themselves in, her face felt magnetic. He had resisted every urge to lean forward. 

“It was.” Madara looked down to the ground. “I don’t know what he was planning to do, but he was adamant on getting you.”

“Thank you.” Her sudden words hit him.

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked as he removed his hands from her shoulders. 

“For not giving me away. And for not treating me like a thing.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” Her kindness blew him away. Were her standards really so low? What had she endured when he and Izuna weren’t at home? What kind of life did she live before coming here? “My father said that you’re part of our household now, so we’ll treat you like it. If anybody else treats you any less, don’t tolerate it.”

In that moment, he had so much more he wanted to say and do. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, especially when it seemed that she finally got used to being with the two of them. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She then bowed her head slightly. “I’ll head back to bed now. Good night, Madara.”

“Good night, Hasuri.”

They parted ways, but Madara looked over his shoulder and watched as she disappeared down the hall. He heard the sliding of the doors as she entered the room. Right as he was about to open the doors to his room, Izuna popped out of his.

“Oh, a house call tonight, eh?” Izuna said with a smirk as he folded his arms over his loosened _yukata_. His hair was completely down, free from its ponytail.

“No. I was reading the tablet again,” Madara responded.

“Wow. When were you such a scholar?” Izuna chuckled. “Anything new?”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to read anything until we get that Mangekyō Sharingan.” Madara sighed, leaning against the wall. “And there seems to be only one way to get it.”

Silence between the two brothers. The tablet said that the only way to acquire the Mangekyō Sharingan was _“the death of a loved one.”_ But it seemed their father’s death wasn’t enough. 

“So, I’m guessing that was Ichirai out there, huh?” Izuna changed the subject. “I called it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” Madara sighed. “Yeah, you did. He came for Hasuri.”

“Dumbass.” Izuna let out a drawn-out sigh. “She may be quiet, but she knows how to survive. She’ll definitely scream. Or at least, we’d hear something. He must really be smitten if he’s that desperate for her.”

“Well, that’s too fucking bad.” Madara lifted his leg, his foot against the wall as his knee pointed straight forward. “Hasuri wants to stay with us, so I’ll fight for her.”

“She does?” Izuna’s arms completely unfolded and his head turned to face Madara. 

“Yeah, she does. I asked her.”

“That’s quite a surprise, considering we don’t do anything for her. Or maybe it’s exactly because we leave her alone that she wants to stay.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t possibly think she doesn’t hear whenever we bring a girl into our rooms, right? The poor girl’s probably terrified that she might be next.”

“There’s no way she could think we’d do that to her.”

“Well, _we_ know we wouldn’t do that, but consider it from her point of view. She’s spent her entire life living with her family, watching her clan get sold to total strangers. Most sold are men. I’ve heard only bad things from Father and around our clan about what happens when a Gūzō woman is sold. And then she gets sold to _three_ strange men. I’m surprised she never ran away.”

“Not _‘strange,’”_ Madara countered. “We knew her father.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t know that then. All she knew was that her father was sold to us.” Izuna then leaned the back of his head against the wall. “But I’m glad that she wants to stay. She makes this place actually feel like a home again.”

“She does,” Madara agreed, gazing up towards the ceiling.

It was more than just their house. Wherever she was felt like home. At the river, washing clothes. In the streets, buying produce in the market. In the forest, before their father’s grave. Wherever she went, he wanted to follow. But this war constantly kept them apart. Living one day to the next, never knowing he was going to live or not — that sort of shit never bothered him before. But now it did.

What was she going to do if he and Izuna were gone? What would happen to her? Would she be safe? Would she return back to her clan’s land? Would she be forced into another household that may or may not treat her kindly? 

“Well! I’m going to be,” Izuna declared with a yawn. “Good night, brother.”

“Good night, Izuna.”

The two brothers returned to their respective rooms. Laying atop his _shikibuton_ mattress, he just stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t feel the least bit tired. He feared Ichirai coming back for Hasuri. He got up, opened his door, and walked down the hall, across the main body of the house, and down the other hallway.

A hall he never walked down for years. Where his lost siblings once slept. The feeling of finally stepping foot in that hall again was feeling much like dread.

Madara didn’t believe in ghosts. He believed that souls left the body upon death and could visit the earth plane again, yes, but he didn’t believe they could do anything to the material realm. Eternal spectators, should they choose to wander the earth forever. He didn’t want his younger brothers to see him mourn and mope around their old rooms. 

Yanagi, Matsu, and Hasuri occupied the first room in the hall — the room of Kuroji, the middle brother. The room at the very end of the hall was Izuna’s original room until their brothers had passed away, vacating the room beside Madara’s on the other side of the house and isolating Izuna on this side. 

Though the walk from the entrance of the hall to Hasuri’s room was short, every step felt like stones tied to his feet. He stood in front of the door and activated his Sharingan. He saw the gentle flow of chakra in a humanoid shape laying down on the ground. He glanced around his surroundings. No other chakra signature. 

Madara let out a deep sigh of simultaneous relief and disappointment through his nose, leaning his head against the closed doors. Relief that Hasuri was okay and Ichirai wasn’t around to take her away. Disappointment in himself for being so paranoid, getting so worked up over nothing. Hasuri could take care of herself. Had she not been doing that for the past six months, especially when she was alone in the house while he and Izuna were away? 

So why? Why was he still so worried about her? Other than the fact that her jutsu is a good addition to their survival on the battlefield, why did he care so much?

Madara pried himself away from the shut doors. He had to get some rest. He had been dealing with far too much as the shadow clan leader. 

* * *

“Tonight is the night,” Madara declared. “We cannot wait anything longer.”

This particular battle had dragged on for nearly an entire month. The Uchiha of this particular division were running thin, and other groups couldn’t afford to continue siphoning members to Tsutsui’s dwindling numbers. 

Madara had yet to face Hashirama this time, but he knew that the head divisions were clashing, so it was only a matter of time before he encountered his former friend. 

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Izuna asked, leaning towards his brother and hiding his voice under the crackling of the campfire’s flickering flames.

“We’ll take the patrol. We’ll dismiss Tsutsui and Ichirai, and that’s when we have to strike,” Madara said.

Their uncle and cousin have chosen to go on patrol to survey the area and construct a new strategy. Madara had already told them plenty of strategies, but they refused to listen. And when they finally did listen, the strategy they used was too late and didn’t work. And then they would blame Madara for their losses. Luckily, many in their division recognized this, and frustration was at an all-time high. Never during their father’s role as clan leader did such internal dissonance exist.

Even back home, their clan was fed up with Tsutsui and Ichirai constantly leaving to purchase a new group of Hasuri’s clan members, dwindling their already-strained resources. Yet Madara truly wanted his uncle and cousin to succeed, which was why he continually lended them his aid. 

It took him nearly nine months to build up the courage to overthrow his uncle once and for all. Finally, under the dim light of the waxing crescent moon, Madara’s resolve overcame his feelings. 

“They’re starting to head out,” Izuna said, glancing around.

“Let’s go.” Madara stood up, his younger brother following suit. 

They jogged up to the two Uchiha about to head into the forest, keeping their pace casual despite their hearts racing with anxiety.

“Oi!” Madara called, drawing their attention. “You two get some rest. Izuna and I will relieve them.”

“Really?” Their faces lit up. “Great! Thanks.”

“No problem,” Izuna returned as their clansmen turned around and headed back to camp. The two brothers then walked into the forest.

From there, Madara explained to Izuna the rest of the plan as the branches of the forest loomed overhead. Izuna listened and nodded contemplatively. 

“Alright,” Izuna said. “Understood.”

With that, Madara pulled out a kunai and stabbed it into the earth. The brothers’ Sharingan activated, and they leapt into the tree branches. They didn’t dare jump onto the canopy for fear of being spotted. Their glowing red eyes surveyed the forest like mad, ignoring the life of the critters and searching for two human forms. The breeze rattling the tree branches hid their footsteps. Madara made occasional glances to his younger brother. Sometimes they’d lock eyes and give each other reaffirming nods and smiles, but it wasn’t enough to reduce the tension.

This was their uncle and cousin. Their cousin, who was practically their brother after the loss of their three. And their uncle, who was like a second father to them. But it was Tsutsui and Ichirai that cost their clan the highest losses. 

_‘Forgive us, Father,’_ Madara kept telling himself. 

“At ten o’clock,” Izuna said. Madara’s gaze shifted a little to the left, and sure enough, there were two people heading in the opposite direction. They turned in their path.

Finally, they came to a standstill, watching from the foliage and observing. Indeed, the two forms were Tsutsui and Ichirai. Madara held up his hand, completely flat. The wind picked up right as the two brothers held their breaths. Madara slightly closed his fingers, extending his index and middle finger forward and aiming right for the ground. 

With that, he and Izuna leapt. Ichirai and Tsutsui seemed to be aware of their presence and drew their weapons, but too little, too late. Madara already drew out a kunai and brought it down into Tsutsui’s chest. Ichirai was more alert and engaged Izuna briefly before attempting to run. 

“Forgive me, Uncle,” Madara muttered as he pulled the kunai out and stepped back. 

As Tsutsui fell forward onto his stomach, Madara saw the horror plastered on his face, causing Madara’s own to slightly wince at the wretched sight. He simply stood there, watching. He stared at his gloved hands. Clean, save for the bloodstained kunai in his left hand. Even his clothes were spotless. A perfect parricide. The final living connection he had to his father. The aching welled up his chest and climbed up his throat. 

_‘Forgive me, Father. Forgive me, Uncle. Please, forgive me...’_

Madara’s vision blurred and turned red, and he held his hands to his eyes. It felt like something was pushing them out from inside his head. 

He then heard Ichirai’s strangled screams and looked up, seeing Izuna stand over Ichirai’s body that slumped over a rock, several kunai jutting from his back. Madara began to step forward as Izuna knelt down to their cousin.

“Ichirai, I promise,” Izuna said, placing a hand on Ichirai’s head and forcing him to look up at him. “I’ll take care of Anzu and the child.”

Madara didn’t get to see Ichirai’s reaction before Izuna brutally twisted his head, causing the body to go completely limp against the rock. Through his blurred sight, he saw Izuna collapse onto his knees, holding himself up by the boulder. He could hear his brother’s rapid, heavy breathing as if he had been running for hours on end. 

And in an instant, Madara’s vision cleared. Things felt sharper than ever. He could make the individual flutter of every leaf around them, every wave of the blades of grass beneath their feet, and even the soft sheen of dust off the bare ground when the wind picked up the surface sediment. Everything so pristine, so clear…

_‘So this is the Mangekyō Sharingan…!’_

He saw Izuna hold his eyes to his hands, and he knelt down beside his brother.

“I can’t see…!” Izuna cried.

“It’s alright,” Madara reassured, helping him to his feet. “It happened to me. Let’s just head back now. We need to go back to the start and walk.”

“Right. Did it work for you?”

“It did.”

“Then can you get my kunai?”

Madara did so, plucking out the knives from his dead cousin’s back. He placed them in Izuna’s bag. Slinging his brother’s arm over his shoulder, he then leapt into the trees, retracing the path they took to the start of the forest.

“Let me see your eyes,” Izuna requested as they raced across the forest’s branches. Despite the speed Madara was going at, his vision made it seem as though he were casually strolling. 

Madara then turned to look his brother in the eyes. Izuna’s own eyes were still glowing red, though the glow pulsated slightly. 

“It’s beautiful…” Izuna marveled. 

“Really? What does it look like?” Madara asked, facing forward again.

“Like three elongated _tomoe_ , connecting to each other in a circle,” his brother answered. “And the _tomoe_ heads are hollowed out. How does it feel?”

“Incredible,” Madara responded.

“Is it worth it?”

That, Madara wasn’t sure about. But unlocking this next step of Sharingan meant more secrets to uncover. So surely, it had to be worth it. Madara nodded his response.

From several dozen yards away, Madara caught the glint of his kunai, stabbing into the earth, marking their starting point. As he drew closer and closer, he could even see the slight footprints in the dirt. He aimed for one set of those footsteps, jumping to the ground and twisting his body 180° until his feet perfectly lined up with the footprint. Izuna’s landing was not as precise, but he couldn’t fault him. Thus began the next phase of their plan.

This time, from the ground, Madara and Izuna took slow, casual strides into the forest. They took winding paths, pretending to search for Tsutsui and Ichirai. Madara even managed to find Tsutsui and Ichirai’s footsteps and ran beside them so as to not smudge their marks. And then they reapproached their crime scene. Madara took their cousin’s body and Izuna took their uncle’s. They then ran back to camp, crying, _“Help! Someone, help! Something’s happened!”_

From there, things went seamlessly. Nobody suspected the brothers, but chaos erupted among the division. Everyone came to the unanimous decision to go back home and determine a new leader. 

Madara found it a shame that he wouldn’t encounter Hashirama this time, but considering all the sacrifices he made in one night alone, what was one more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know i did a bit of a terrible job incorporating the point that Tsutsui and Ichirai were actually important to Madara and Izuna but it's FINE i'm fine everything's fine. mango key sharingan babyyyyy. notes:  
> -I got the inspiration for the lost Uchiha brothers names from this tumblr post by sennokami and fineillsign up: https://sennokami.tumblr.com/post/182666501469/theory-about-madara-and-izunas-names  
> -tl;dr is that Madara and Izuna's names may have come from the Five Mountains of Northern Shinshu, and Madara stated he was one of five. _Kurohime_ is one of the mountains, but _hime_ means princess. The post changed it to simply "Kuro" but I jumped off the cliff and made it "Kuroji" (black prince).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: this chapter contains an implied suicide.

* * *

Listen while you read: [Moonlight Sonata — Movement 1, Beethoven](https://youtu.be/sbTVZMJ9Z2I)

* * *

Madara and Hasuri sat at the table, Madara at the head and Hasuri on the side of the table to his right. The burial of Tsutsui and Ichirai had occurred just hours before, and neither of them had seen Izuna since. 

“Where do you think he went?” Hasuri asked before putting a small bit of rice in her mouth.

“Don’t know,” Madara replied, picking up a piece of grilled fish. “He’s not one to go off on his own without saying anything.”

“He didn’t even tell you?” Hasuri’s voice betrayed her incredulity. “I hope he’s okay…”

The two of them continued eating in silence until Hasuri spoke up again.

“Does this mean you’ll be the leader now?” 

“That will be decided at the clan gathering tomorrow,” Madara responded. “But considering everything, it seems that way.”

“We should celebrate,” Hasuri suggested. She then leaned towards him and asked with a smile, “What’s your favorite food? I’ll make it for you!”

Madara widened his eyes and he turned his head to meet her eager gaze. He felt his cheeks grow warm when he saw the pure elation on her face.

“There’s really no need,” Madara managed to say without choking. “Nothing has been actually decided yet.”

“Think of it this way!” Hasuri grabbed his forearm, and Madara looked straight down to it, only to look up right as she inched closer, her smile growing brighter. “If you become clan leader, then it’ll be a celebration. If you don’t, then it’ll be your comfort food!”

Her eyes sparkled in the golden light, and Madara could only gulp and nod, completely entranced. The spell only broke by the sudden sound of rapid footsteps clambering up into the front entrance and the sound of the front doors opening and slamming shut. Hasuri turned her head, released her gentle grasp on his arm, stood up, and walked towards the front entrance. Madara took a moment to pull himself together before he followed her. 

It was Izuna, panting on the ground and leaning his back against the front door with his eyes closed. Hasuri let out a sharp gasp and quickly ran to him. 

“Izuna! Are you alright?” she asked. “You’re deathly pale!”

Madara also approached but kept his distance; he didn’t want to overwhelm his brother right now. Hasuri placed the back of her hand against Izuna’s forehead.

“Are you hurt?” she continued.

“No,” Izuna said breathily with a shake of his head. 

“Can you stand?” 

Izuna nodded, and as Hasuri inched back to lift Izuna’s arm over her shoulder, Madara stepped forward to offer his own help. 

“Go get him some water,” Madara said to Hasuri. “I’ll take him to his room.”

Hasuri gave a single nod of her head with a soft, obedient _“mm”_ of confirmation from her pressed lips before heading to the kitchen. Madara then led his brother to his room. Once inside, Madara sat Izuna atop his bed. 

Then Izuna opened his eyes. The first thing Madara noticed was the familiar red of the Sharingan. The second was that his brother’s eyes did not have the three _tomoe_ , but instead a black wheel of a pupil with three thick spokes stretching to the edge of his iris. Madara’s own eyes widened. His brother’s eyes had finally evolved. 

“Izuna...what happened?” Madara asked slowly.

“Anzu…” his brother said shakily, bringing his knees to his chin. “Anzu...she — she’s — ”

Izuna then looked up, his eyes locking with Madara’s. Madara sensed the genjutsu coming forth and embraced it, knowing that Izuna was going to show him the truth.

Madara was transported back in time to the burial ceremony. He could see himself standing with Izuna and Hasuri behind the widowed Anzu, who stood silently. Behind them was the rest of the clan. Anzu broke the still vigil, and the rest of the clan dispersed. Madara watched himself and Hasuri walk back to the house while Izuna followed Anzu, who had already disappeared.

Izuna walked all the way to their uncle and cousin’s house. Footsteps in the dirt showed that Anzu had come in, but the windows were all dark. Izuna knocked on the front door a few times, calling out, _“Anzu?”_ No reply. Even after several minutes, Izuna received no response. He went to the neighbors asking if they had seen Anzu — which none of them had, despite the freshtracks. Concerned, they all went to the house to check in on her.

 _“Anzu, we’re coming in!”_ one of the neighbors announced before opening the doors. 

The inside of the house had been turned completely upside down. Furniture thrown all over the place, shattered cups and bowls. Izuna immediately headed to the bedrooms, checking in each and every one until he slid open the last room.

The horrific sight made him sink to his knees. Some of the neighbors noticed and ran to Izuna, intent on asking him if he was okay, only to see what he had just walked in on. 

Anzu, on the ground, dead. A long strip of white cloth had been tied around her neck and streamed behind her, but something must have happened to its fixing point. Izuna put his face in his hands and when he looked up, Madara recognized the three-spoked wheel, Izuna’s Mangekyō Sharingan completely awakened. 

Everybody then scrambled, trying to place her body in a formal position and readying it to be buried beside her husband. There was no note, no trace, no indication of why she had done this. The neighbors assumed that she could not handle the grief of losing her family. They informed Anzu’s friends (being an only child, her mother died giving birth to her, her father was slain on the battlefield, and she was raised by her grandmother, who passed away of old age. She was sixteen when she married Ichirai, only to become infatuated with Izuna), and they all gave her a quick funeral. Izuna sat before the graves for hours, his eyes completely devoid of emotion. Madara couldn’t tell what his brother was thinking, but after sometime, he finally snapped. The tears rolled down slowly. Izuna keeled forward and sobbed. 

Once he had tired himself out, he wiped the tears from his face — the whites of his eyes dyed red from his Sharingan and his crying — and headed back home. 

Madara blinked, and he was back home beside his brother. Just then, Hasuri entered with a tray of tea.

She served each of them a cup, but none to herself. Madara never picked his up. He only watched as Izuna drank slowly. 

“Do you want to talk about it, Izuna?” Hasuri asked gently, placing a hand on his back.

A few moments of silence as Izuna turned to meet Hasuri’s soft gaze. Hasuri gasped when she saw his Mangekyō still activated, but she didn’t look away. Izuna probably put her under his genjutsu, showing her the same thing he has shown Madara. 

Once Hasuri came to, she looked at Izuna with a sad gaze. She then began to move her hand in gentle circles on Izuna’s back, unable to say a word. Madara couldn’t help but notice the calmness that had been washed on Izuna’s face, and he felt like he didn’t belong, like he was intruding.

“Have you eaten?” Hasuri asked Izuna in a soft voice. “We were in the middle of dinner, but I can bring you some here if you like.”

“No, it’s fine,” Izuna declined. “I’m feeling better now. Thank you.”

Hasuri took the empty tea cup from Izuna’s hands and placed it back in the tray. As she stood up, the two brothers followed.

After dinner, Madara and Izuna went back to the shrine to see what new secrets their eyes revealed. They would be back in the meeting space tomorrow for when Madara would become clan leader, but tonight was the time to figure out these new eyes. The two brothers sat before it, closed their eyes, and activated their Sharingan. They then continued to channel their chakra into their eyes until they attained the extreme clarity of the Mangekyō Sharingan. At once, their eyes opened wide with the next level of prowess. Madara focused his gaze on the tablet and read the new plethora of information (though the stone still had its gaps). 

_‘Amaterasu… Kamui… Kotoamatsukami… Susanoo… Tsukuyomi…’_

Back at the house, Madara spent all night determining his Mangekyō Sharingan abilities. Izuna was understandably tired and went to bed, leaving Madara alone and awake to train. 

He practiced by closing one eye and channeling his chakra into the available eye until something happened. He then held out his arm and stuck a single finger up, testing the limits of his vision by moving his arm back to the very limits of his vision when his eyes were in their corners. He did that math with his results: a normal individual with no dōjutsu when staring straight ahead had a horizontal span of about 120° and a maximum vertical span of about 135°. When the eyes were forced into their outermost corners, each eye had a horizontal span of about 160°, combining the maximum horizontal range of about 200° when the head remained static. 

Due to the Mangekyō Sharingan of his left eye — possessing the power of the _Hitorigami_ —, his regular visual field expanded to the maximum horizontal and vertical ranges as long as he had his left eye open. He had yet to figure out what his right eye could do, though, so he aimed to perfect the use of the _Hitorigami._ He took a few deep breaths and began another training session. He would observe the movements of his expanded visual field. He’d take note of every slight movement and commit them to memory. 

But then, just as he was practicing, he caught a figure walking towards him from somewhere behind him. He briefly stopped channeling chakra into his eye to turn his head.

_‘Hasuri…!’_

“It’s late,” she called to him with a little smile. “What are you doing?”

“Training,” he responded shortly as she stopped in her tracks. 

He watched as her eyebrows furrowed together and her eyes narrowed. She walked right up to him, glaring directly into his soul.

“Your eyes…!” she said to him in some wondrous disbelief. “They’re different!”

“Oh, sorry.” Madara broke her gaze and covered his left eye. He tilted his head forward to allow his long bangs to cover his right. “It’s called the Mangekyō Sharingan. Does it scare you?”

“No!” Hasuri’s voice was light and breathy. She grabbed his forearm and gently pulled it away from his face. With her other hand, she moved the hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. She looked into his eyes with wide awe, her mouth lifting in a smile of childlike wonder. “They’re beautiful! I think I like yours more than Izuna’s!”

Thanks to the Sharingan, that beautiful, innocent face was committed to memory, engraved into his mind forever. It was nice to have a positive memory for once. Madara felt the corners of his lips curl back into a soft smile and his cheeks grow warm as he let out a soft chuckle.

“How is this different from your regular Sharingan?” she asked as she released his arm. 

Madara figured he’d tell her. It was only fair, plus it wasn’t like he was exposing the dark secrets behind how he and Izuna unlocked it. The secrets of the Stone Tablet were safe.

“My vision is even better,” Madara began the list, “I’ve unlocked more abilities. I just need to figure out how to work them. And then, I’ll unlock the strongest ability these eyes have to offer!”

“Wow…!” The pure awe in her voice rang in his ears. “What are these abilities?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t have _all_ of them. If I’m lucky, I’ll get two unique ones for each eye. If not, then I just have one that works in both eyes,” Madara explained. “There’s quite a list of them. But the strongest ability is called Susanoo.”

 _“Susanoo?”_ Hasuri echoed. “What is that like?”

“Well, I don’t know yet,” Madara sighed. “I have to work out how these eyes work individually first. But I think I’ve narrowed down my left eye.”

“Already? Wow! You’re incredible!” Hasuri praised. “Can you show me?”

“Sure.” Madara then faced her, grabbing her by the shoulders and stepping back until his arms were completely straight. “First, look at me. Don’t look anywhere else but straight at me.”

Hasuri nodded, her eyes staring deep into his. He then held up a single finger in front of his face. 

“Keep looking at me. Don’t move your eyes or head. Tell me when you can’t see my finger anymore.” He proceeded to slowly move his finger to the left. He focused on her eyes, looking for any aversion of her gaze. He could make out the flutter of individual eyelashes in the night breeze. 

“Stop,” she said. 

“So this is a typical visual range. It’s the same on both sides. A regular visual range is from about 10 o’clock to 2 o’clock. Alright so now, look into the very corner of this eye. All the way until your eyes hurt. Don’t move your head.” Madara took the hand still on her shoulder and tapped the outer corner of her right eye, causing her to flinch and smile. He watched as her eyes turned almost completely white as she looked all the way to the right. “Tell me when you can’t see my finger anymore.”

For this, he had to move away from her but kept his eyes on her. The moment he stepped away, he caught her head moving. 

“Face forward!” he reminded.

“It’s hard!” she giggled. 

“I know, but only move your eyes. Not your head!”

By now, Madara had shifted his feet to his left (her right), keeping his finger up in front of him. He moved in an arc around her. He then caught her head turning.

“Ah-ah!” he said, taking his other hand and placing it under her chin, turning her head to face the front. His thumb was over her chin and the side of his index finger was underneath it. “I said not to move your head. If it’s that difficult, I’ll hold it in place for you.” 

He then took a couple steps to the left, his hand still under her chin. At this angle, he could still move his testing arm while still keeping her head still. He continued to move his finger all the way until it was a little ways behind her shoulder. 

“Stop.” 

“See how you can see a little bit behind you when you look in the very corner of your eye? When you maximize your range, you can see a little past 9 o’clock to a little past 3 o’clock,” Madara explained. “But with my left eye, my regular vision — the one from 10 to 2 — expands to the 9 to 3.”

“But I thought that involves both eyes?” Hasuri turned her head to look him in the eyes, but Madara didn’t remove his hand. And she didn’t even push his hand away. “So why just your left eye?”

The urge to bring her face to his and close the gap between them surged once more. 

_‘Answer the question. Get your mind off of it,’_ he told himself. _‘Answer. If you don’t answer, things will get really awkward really fast.’_

“I need the left eye to expand my vision. It’ll work with my right, but I need to keep my left eye open,” Madara clarified. “If I close my right eye, then it’ll still work. But if I close my left eye, then I’m just stuck in a regular range.”

“Do you still see the full 200° with just your left?” Hasuri asked.

 _‘Damn. So she knew the math. I probably sound like a fool, talking to her in o’clock terms,’_ Madara scolded himself. 

“No. Here, let me show you.” Madara stepped direction in front of her and placed a hand over her right eye. He held up his finger directly in the middle of their faces and began moving it in the direction of his covered hand. He watched her left eye roll into its medial corner.

“Stop,” she said, not even needing Madara to remind her. 

_‘Of course she wouldn’t. She’s smart.’_ Why was he looking down on her so much? Was he even looking down on her? Or was he getting too caught up in his own excitement and wanted her to understand? But surely if she were confused, she’d say something or at least show it. 

“So if you only have your left eye open, your maximum range is from 8 to 2?” she said, as if testing the waters. “So 180°?”

“Exactly.” Madara then rested his arms, letting them hang at his side. “This ability is called _Hitorigami._ ”

 _“Hitorigami…”_ she repeated as she squatted down to the ground.

Madara tried not to stare at her rather rugged way of squatting: feet shoulder-width apart and flat on ground. It caused the end of her yukata to separate, threatening to reveal the bare legs underneath. She put her finger to the ground, drawing two concentric circles, one significantly smaller than the other and with a vertical line through its upper half. She then drew various lines at mirroring angles, numbering them on the outside of the larger circle. Madara then realized that she had drawn, from memory, [ the visual fields he had demonstrated to her ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1LxQfjHH4da3KTNyRHlXFQ1Ti9YzYdDNl/view?usp=sharing). Dashed lines represented the right eye’s range, solid lines the left. She also drew two thin lines to represent a regular visual span. 

“What about the vertical range?” she asked, craning her neck up to him. 

“It would be the same for both eyes since our eyes are in the front of our head,” Madara replied, squatting down beside her (though he put all his weight in the balls of his feet and his heels still remained in the air). 

He drew two concentric vertical semicircles in the exposed, dry dirt. He felt rather embarrassed since his curves weren’t as perfectly even as hers. He then drew four radiating lines: two solid lines to represent the maximum and two thin lines to represent the typical. He began to draw a fifth dashed line to represent the standard gaze, only for his dashes to start curved downwards.

 _“Dammit!”_ Madara cursed under his breath, causing Hasuri to chuckle. 

At the same exact time, they each placed a flattened hand to the earth in an attempt to erase the lines. Their hands met, Madara’s over Hasuri’s. They both drew away at the moment of contact.

“Sorry!” they said in nervous unison. 

They then looked at each other, stunned. A moment of silence went by, and they both immediately burst into laughter. 

“I’ll let you redraw it,” Hasuri offered, her smile still bright on her face. 

“What, so you can make fun of my mistakes again?” Madara teased as he dragged his finger through the dirt. Hasuri covered her mouth with her sleeve-covered hand. “Judging from your circles and lines, you must be an artist.”

“Simple circles and lines aren’t art,” Hasuri responded, her voice lightened with a giggle. “It’s all thanks to my mother. She was a great mathematician. She handled our clan’s finances and helped Uncle Niwaki all the time before she died. She always wanted me to be the one to follow her footsteps, so she drilled all sorts of math in my head. Plus, I have to draw circles and lines all the time for my forehead painting! And I wasn’t always good at it either.”

“Really? Doesn’t look like it now. Your war paint looks exactly like the embroidery,” Madara pointed out.

“Thanks, but that came from a lot of practice. My mother got mad at me for either wasting rouge or ink because I used it on paper. I remember one time, my fingertips were dyed black for a whole week!” She then chuckled softly to herself before letting out a light sigh. “My sister is a natural at art. Anything involving beauty, she’s good at. Hair, makeup, art. It’s because she’s got small hands.”

Madara acted without thinking. He held out his left hand to her, spreading his fingers wide with his palm facing the sky. By the time he looked over to her, he saw her right hand lift, hesitating slightly as she drew neared. Madara faltered himself, his fingers relaxing slightly, but it was too late to go back now. He slightly lifted his hand as if to silently ask, _“Well? Are you going to do it or not?”_

Hasuri answered by resting her hand over his, their palms and fingers touching. Her fingertips reached the distal joint on his own fingers. Indeed, her hands were large for a girl’s, but they were by no means unsightly. He did notice her extremely short fingernails — so short, they didn’t even have the white crescent edges at all. Most women he encountered had long fingernails that came over the edge of their fingertips. Madara felt them more than he saw them; they often dug into his back, embedding deep tiny crescent moons into his skin and even drawing blood if they were long enough.

And then those raunchy thoughts came sneaking back in his mind.

_‘What would her nails feel like, clawing along your back? Her touch is warm. Imagine her hand against your chest. Or better yet. Around your — ”_

“Your hands are smaller than mine, so by your logic, you’re also good at beautiful things,” Madara said. He nearly fumbled that. He didn’t think he’d ever recover from just spilling out that he thought she was beautiful. 

“No, just better than you,” Hasuri responded cheekily, her eyes squinting from how much her cheeks bunched up in her smile. Once again acting out of retaliation, he automatically reached and pinched one of her cheeks.

_‘Soft...Her skin is really soft…’_

“I’m a shinobi,” Madara declared with a smirk, pulling her squished cheek up and down. “There’s nothing beautiful about war.”

Beauty, innocence, love. War destroyed them all. But here, at home, there was no war. Her beauty, her innocence, it was all shielded here. He didn’t have to worry about her the way he worried about Izuna. But that wasn’t to say that he didn’t love her. It was a different kind of love. 

He loved Izuna as his only brother. With a fierce desire to keep him safe and alive in the cruel world. An innate love, born only from the shared blood that flowed through their veins and of the enemies that they caused to spill on the battlefield. An irreplaceable bond. He fought, lived, and breathed to keep Izuna alive.

He loved Hasuri as one loved watching the plum blossoms flowering after a long winter. An ethereal beauty against the harsh reality. A fragile yet certain sign of hope and warmth. A love that was planted and grown, one that could snap at the slightest breeze in its seedling days or grow tall and firm as a mighty tree. And once that tree deeply rooted itself, it didn’t matter how the seasons changed. A summer storm might rip its branches off. The autumn’s chilled breath might cause its leaves to shrivel and dance to the floor. The winter’s deathly grip might leave its skeleton exposed. But it would always grow again to blossom in the spring once more.

The two of them headed back into the house after Madara kicked dirt over their drawings. Right as they parted ways, Madara spoke up, suddenly remembering an answer to her lost question earlier that evening.

 _“Inarizushi,”_ he said. He looked over his shoulder, catching as she did the same, probably stunned and confused. “My favorite food is _inarizushi._ And it will be for celebration, not for comfort.”

He saw her face light up with realization. A smile bloomed across her face.

“I won’t disappoint you!” she promised as she continued to her room.

That night, Madara fell asleep easily, his body feeling as though he were floating on a cloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing says love like GEOMETRY! after all, the shape of love is a CARDIOID: a heart or a dummy thicc booty. anywaysss NOTEs (i forgot to add this when i first published this chapter haha):  
> - _Hitorigami_ refers to a class of Shinto _kami_ who (as the name suggests) came into existence alone (usually they come in pairs of respective male/female, i.e. _Izanagi_ and _Izanami_ ).  
> -Nobody knows what Madara's MS abilities were. We've received a non-canon interpretation from an animated cutscene from one of the games, which seems to involve the reversing of time. https://youtu.be/bJKVZyTZ17A?t=189 (starting at 3:09 of this vid). I took inspiration from this (a comment somewhere mentioned that it's not reversing time like _Izanagi_ but rather Madara "recording" and "replaying" a particular moment). You'll see more of that particular ability later. For now, _Hitorigami_ is basically a bootleg Byakugan. An expanded visual field can explain Madara's overuse of the MS, and the record/replay ability doubly so.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Listen while you read: [Air, Bach](https://youtu.be/xDWG9SrB4io)

* * *

After Madara and Izuna left for their clan meeting, a few young Gūzō men came by and knocked on the door, informing Hasuri of their clan’s own makeshift gathering while all the Uchiha were away. She was eager to meet everyone, though she had to admit she was apprehensive since she knew they were all men. Still, these particular young men were kind to her, reassuring her that people were looking forward to meeting the daughter of the great Yanagi, niece of Lord Niwaki, and protector of Madara and Izuna. 

“Has this always been a thing?” Hasuri asked as she walked alongside the men: Hinoki, Kashiwa, and Nagi. 

She estimated they were about her age. Maybe a little older than her, maybe a little younger. She befriended them a few weeks ago when she was walking to the marketplace alone and caught up to the three of them, also on their way for grocery shopping. From then on, they always traveled as a group of four.

“It started small,” responded Hinoki. He was around Hasuri’s height. The sides of his head were shaved, but the black-brown hair on the top of his head reached his chin, tied back in a small messy bun at the back of his head. “We only started going about two months ago. Everyone always mentions you, Lady Hasuri, but nobody has ever invited you!”

“It’s like Lord Madara and Lord Izuna just keep you cooped all day, Lady Hasuri,” Nagi commented. He was taller than Hasuri by only a few centimeters. He had messy, slightly wavy black hair that covered his ears and forehead. 

“We heard rumors about Lord Madara and Lord Izuna…” Kashiwa began hesitantly. He had shoulder-length black hair that he tied in a half-ponytail at the back of his head. “Is it true that they’ve...sired a lot of children?”

“Don’t say it like that!” Hinoki smacked the back of his hand against Kashiwa’s chest.

“It’s true, is it not? I was just concerned!” Kashiwa exclaimed. “Sorry, Lady Hasuri. It’s just...we also heard that Madara has stopped entertaining women. The families we live with talk about it often. They say that... _ you’re  _ the one he... _ sees _ .”

Hasuri sighed. She figured as much. Ever since that day on the river, she had the suspicion that such rumors flew around. Besides, it was true that Madara no longer brought home women. In fact, Izuna still did, just about every night, while Madara and Hasuri would sit outside, away from all the noise, and chat. 

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Hasuri said, her sentence tapering off with a slight chuckle. “Please, just call me Hasuri. And,  _ no,  _ Madara and I are not — well, let’s just call it like it is. We’re not fucking.”

The three young men all glanced among themselves with startled expressions. Kashiwa slapped a hand over his mouth while Nagi and Hinoki laughed out. 

“Didn’t think a lady could be so crass,” Hinoki teased, his smile still on his face. 

“I’ve heard it all.  _ ‘Entertain,’ ‘been with,’ ‘seen,’  _ even  _ ‘make love.’  _ I’m just sick of it.” Hasuri rolled her eyes. “So I think I know better than anyone except for Madara and Izuna that it’s just fucking.”

“I heard from the family I’m with that Madara and Izuna have been doing this since they were sixteen! Doesn’t that mean Lord Tajima knew?” Nagi commented.

“He knew,” Hasuri confirmed. “I talked to him about it before he died. He made it sound like he had no control over them, but the more we talked, the more he made it clear that he approved of it,  _ wanted  _ it to happen.”

Hinoki whistled with a downward glissando before saying, “Damn. I knew Uchihas did things differently, but this is  _ way  _ different.”

“Don’t they disapprove of marrying outside their clan?” Kashiwa pointed out. “Wouldn’t this be...you know, a problem?”

“Tajima knew about that, too.” Hasuri closed her eyes. “He talked about how only a pure-blooded Uchiha could unlock the full potential of the Sharingan, so he didn’t mind his own bloodline becoming so prevalent.”

“I know I’ve only been here for a couple months, but damn, isn’t that — you know — a little fucked up?” Nagi exclaimed.

“You don’t need to be here long to know that it’s  _ very _ fucked up. Elder Yakusugi’s been here for  _ years _ , and he still doesn’t approve,” Hinoki said. 

Hasuri had heard of Elder Yakusugi. A Gūzō sold to the Uchiha from back when Uncle Niwaki first became the leader of their clan. Elder Yakusugi served many nuclear Uchiha families, all killed in action. After Tajima became clan leader, Yakusugi opened his own clinic for the Uchiha women and young children at home mainly and also as an emergency station for when the men came home. 

Elder Yakusugi was around sixty years old, outliving many of the Uchiha and Gūzō themselves. However, the one thing about Elder Yakusugi was that his  _ Seisaikara  _ was not impressive (he could hardly put even a child under a full  _ Seisaikara _ without draining much of his chakra), but his medical ninjutsu was incredible to make up for it. 

Hasuri had always intended to visit him, but she was nervous and never got the chance. 

“Speaking of Elder Yakusugi, I heard he’s been eager to meet you, Hasuri!” Kashiwa pointed out. “But because you serve Lord Madara and Lord Izuna, nobody dared to approach and invite you.”

“Well, I suppose I have to thank you three for your bravery.” Hasuri smiled, teasing. 

Eventually, the four young Gūzō approached a congregation of white with the familiar red crest on their backs. Everyone immediately noticed Hasuri — the only Gūzō woman to serve the Uchiha, daughter of Yanagi, and niece of Niwaki — and bowed at the waist. Hasuri found herself constantly dismissing them, telling them not to be formal, that they didn’t have to call her  _ “Lady Hasuri”,  _ and the like. Hinoki, Kashiwa, and Nagi led Hasuri to the very center of the gathering, where a small fire had been lit. Sitting on a stool was whom Hasuri assumed to be Elder Yakusugi.

Calling him  _ “elder”  _ felt so wrong. He didn’t even look that old. He had a cleanly shaven face. He did have silvering hair, but it was scattered among his full head of black hair like salt and pepper; the short hair on his temples was purely silver. The only wrinkles on his face were around his eyes and around his mouth. His hair was much like Hinoki’s, but the sides of Yakusugi’s head weren’t closely shaven and the hair at the top was shorter. Elder Yakusugi’s hair was wavy from constantly being pushed up and over his head. Even at sixty years old, he looked young for his age. 

Yakusugi, who had been poking the fire in front of him with a stick, looked up, his face lighting up as he stood up.

“Lady Hasuri,” he greeted with a bow that Hasuri quickly reciprocated. 

“Please, there’s no need to be formal. If anybody deserves titles, it would be you,” Hasuri returned. 

“Could you look at me, Hasuri?”

She did so, meeting a surprisingly contemplative gaze from Elder Yakusugi’s dark eyes. 

“Incredible…!” he marveled. “You look so much like Bara…!”

To Hasuri, it was insane to even think that a man who looked so incredibly youthful knew her  _ grandmother _ . If he had said her own mother, then she wouldn’t have questioned it, but  _ her grandmother! _

“Ah, thank you, sir,” Hasuri said, not knowing how else she was supposed to respond to that. 

“Please, Lady Hasuri, take a seat!” Elder Yakusugi then gestured to the stool. “You’re our guest of honor tonight!”

“No, no, I can stand!” Hasuri waved her hands slightly to decline the offer. She then gazed around the gathering, seeing everyone standing and facing her. 

For a moment, everything turned silent. A breeze caused the fire to lean and sway. Anxiety in her chest knotted into a boulder of fear. 

“Now that you’re here,” Elder Yakusugi said as he sat back down, “we must address the elephant in the room.”

He then took one of Hasuri’s hands, holding it between both of his. Hasuri flinched at the touch but relaxed when she met Elder Yakusugi’s concerned gaze.

“We are honored and relieved to have you here with us tonight,” Elder Yakusugi began. “But we have to know. How are you, Hasuri? Are you doing well?”

Hasuri looked around again, quickly scanning the faces of the crowd. She no longer saw the gaze of dozens of men looking down at her. Instead, she saw the fatherly and brotherly love of her clan, all plastered on their faces. Only Hinoki, Kashiwa, and Nagi looked at her with reassuring smiles since they already knew her answer. 

“I appreciate your concern. All of you, thank you,” she spoke to the crowd. “I’m doing great.”

She then slipped her hand from Elder Yakusugi’s grasp. She felt the fabric of her sleeve drift through his hands, as if he had been trying to hold on before letting her go. 

“I’m well aware of the rumors that have been going around,” she began, “ and I just want you all to know that neither Madara nor Izuna would ever hurt me.”

“Lady Hasuri, please don’t take this the wrong way!” spoke up one of her clansmen. “But the Uchiha are deciding on a new leader tonight, and we all know it will be Lord Madara. We are just worried he will take advantage of that power.”

“Madara would never!” Hasuri reassured. The sting of such an accusation was as if he had said that about  _ her _ and not Madara. “We’ve lived together for nine months, and he has done nothing of the sort! And being clan leader won’t change him. He’s always been powerful, title or not, and not once has he taken advantage of me.”

“Is it true then, Lady Hasuri?” another man spoke up. “Is it true that the wild stallion has finally been tamed? Can we finally trust this beast of a man?”

_ ‘Okay, now  _ that’s  _ a new one,’  _ Hasuri noted. She looked to Hinoki, Kashiwa, and Nagi in her peripheral vision, trying to keep a straight face. She pressed her lips together to prevent her from smiling when she saw them start to crack up. 

“I suppose he has been ‘ _ tamed,’ _ ” Hasuri responded as genuinely as she could. “He’s often up at night, training diligently. So please, rest easy! Madara is a good person and will be a great clan leader!”

From there, Elder Yakusugi led Hasuri to everyone, though she knew their names would quickly escape her by the time she got home. After a while, one of the sensory men alerted everyone that the Uchihas were coming back. Everyone said their goodbyes, and Hasuri offered to walk Elder Yakusugi back to his house.

“Thank you, Lady Hasuri, but I’ll be fine. If anything, I should be a gentleman and walk you back home,” Elder Yakusugi declined. They then began to make the trek back to Hasuri’s place, and Elder Yakusugi began again. “I’ve served many Uchiha. I’ve tended to and treated many more. But I must say, I’ve never encountered someone like your Madara.”

_ ‘My Madara…’  _ The words echoed in her head. Her heart and mind soared into the clouds of daydream, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. 

“What do you mean by that, sir?” Hasuri turned her head towards him in an attempt to ground herself to reality again.

“Even from a young age, he has always been strong. He and Izuna. I remember Tajima used to have five son,” Elder Yakusugi said. “It says a lot about them, being the only members of their family alive today. Well, members of their  _ household _ . No doubt their bloodline will run deep in the clan for a while. 

“But be warned, Hasuri. I’ve lived with this clan longer than I lived with my own family. When an Uchiha gets stronger, they are consumed by their emotions, and the more they feel, the stronger they get. As members of the Gūzō Clan, we provide them with love, but be careful. While I disagree with the Uchiha’s view of women, I understand why they’ve never bought a Gūzō woman. I know all too well the horror stories of what happens to Gūzō women who are sold. It happened to my sisters, my cousins, my nieces…I was relieved to discover that the Uchiha didn’t want a Gūzō woman to serve them, but when Lord Tajima returned with you, I was terrified. Especially with Lord Madara and Lord Izuna’s habits.

“I trust your judgment, Lady Hasuri, I really do. Seeing you here, out and about, has lifted a great mountain from my back. But if either of those boys do  _ anything  _ to you, do not forget you have your clan behind you. With a single word, we can turn on them. Keep that in mind, Lady Hasuri.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hasuri responded. “It’s comforting to have such support, but there’s really no need. Both Madara and Izuna are good people.”

By now, they were standing in front of Hasuri’s place. Elder Yakusugi then bowed to her.

“It was a pleasure meeting you at last, Lady Hasuri,” he began his farewell. “I hope you will visit the clinic sometime.”

“I will. Good night, sir.” Hasuri returned his bow. With that, she headed towards the front door, lighting several lanterns. She then stood at the door, seeing the two familiar silhouettes of Madara and Izuna approach from afar.

* * *

Madara was completely unopposed. He and Izuna simply walked into the room with their Mangekyō Sharingan activated, and the sheer chakra alone brought the entire clan to its knees. Naturally, rumors circulated in the room about how the brothers managed to awaken the next level of the Sharingan, but Madara knew none of them wanted to confront either he or Izuna about the truth. 

At the age of twenty, Uchiha Madara was the first Uchiha to awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan and arose to claim the position of clan leader. With Izuna as his second-in-command and Hasuri at his side, he took every stride forward with confidence. 

When he and Izuna returned to their house, Hasuri was there, sitting at the door as she usually did. Madara found himself smiling as he watched her rise and run towards them.

“How did it go?” she asked, her smile as radiant as the sun. 

“You’re looking at the new leader of the Uchiha and his right-hand man!” Izuna declared proudly, lifting his chin high as he nudged Madara with his elbow. 

Hasuri took a sharp inhale — a gasp of delight —, her eyes sparkling as she wrapped her arms around his neck and Izuna’s and drew the brothers into a hug. Her chin rested against their shoulders, and Madara fought the urge to put his face into her hair. Instead, he placed his outer arm against her lower back as Izuna placed his arm against her upper back. 

This was the first time they hugged. Ever. Madara was shocked to find that his entire forearm rested against her back and his wrist bent to place his hand against the  _ other  _ side of her waist. 

_ ‘How is that possible? She eats and works every day. Surely being so skinny cannot be healthy…’ _

Yet her face was still soft and slightly rounded beneath her cheekbones, bunched up into plump apples as she beamed with pride and joy. Her face was his only indicator that she was healthy. The only other body part he ever saw were her forearms whenever she pulled up her pooling sleeves to do something, and they were as willowy as her hands. Otherwise, he had no idea of what her body looked like beneath that  _ yukata _ , which only fed his imagination more. 

“So, how about I make that  _ inarizushi _ now?” Hasuri said as she pulled away. “What about you, Izuna? What’s your favorite food?”

“Anything you make is my favorite,” Izuna replied, chuckling sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head. Madara watched as Hasuri graciously accepted the compliment with her smile so wide, her eyes closed. He noticed that she seemed rather flustered at it, and he found it abnormally difficult to keep the smile on his face. 

Throughout the dinner, he took a mental note of how much she ate — which actually rivaled his and Izuna’s appetites. So how did she do it? He had never seen her train before. Or did she really mean it when she said she enjoyed dancing?

In that moment, Madara suddenly felt strangely protective of Hasuri. He knew her to be incredibly strong emotionally and mentally, but he had never seen her physical strength. 

Though his love for Hasuri was different from his love for Izuna, the feelings and the desire to protect arose again. She was supposed to be the refreshing love that he marveled at — the flowering plum blossom tree, the pure lotus that arose from the bloodbath of his life. But that tree was still growing, and Madara had to ensure that it would not sway and break apart before it matured. 

He needed to get a feel of her strength. For her own sake, for his peace of mind, and for the image of the leading household of the Uchiha Clan. Her reputation as Yanagi’s daughter and Niwaki’s niece preceded her. 

Once they cleared the food, Madara and Izuna helped her clean up. He observed as she pulled up the hems of her flowing sleeves over her shoulders, revealing her arms up to her elbows. Indeed, her arms were thin, but not 

bony. But it was still alarming to him. 

When Izuna declared he was heading out for the night, Madara and Hasuri saw him out. 

“Be safe!” Hasuri bid with a smile. “Don’t have too much fun and tire yourself out!”

Izuna let out a single huff of a nervous chuckle, putting his hand behind his head as he glanced off to the side and down towards the ground. 

“Thanks, Hasuri,” he responded. “I’ll — uh — try not to.”

“Oh! And, one more thing! Both of you!” Hasuri then grabbed their forearms. 

Madara immediately stared down to his arm, stunned at the grasp. Out of his peripheral vision, Izuna had the same exact reaction. The two brothers then returned to Hasuri, who had an expression of pure content on her face. Madara didn’t know if it calmed him down or made his heart race even further.

“You can call me  _ ‘Hasu,’ _ ” she offered. “It’s what my family calls me.”

_ ‘Family…’  _ Madara repeated in his head. Was he honored or disappointed?

“Well,  _ Hasu _ ,” Izuna began, a half-smile spreading across his lips, “why the sudden affection?”

“It’s not sudden!” Hasuri denied, releasing her grasps on the brothers. “I just think it’s important for us to be close now more than ever! You two are the leaders of the clan now, and I want to make sure I’m doing my best!”

“You’re doing great as ever,” Izuna reassured, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be off now. See you two in the morning.”

With that, Izuna dashed off into the night, leaving Madara and Hasuri standing with their shoulders inches apart. Silence fell between them as they watched Izuna’s shape melt into the darkness. 

“I have a question for you,” Madara said, filling the void. 

They both looked at each other at the same time, and Madara found himself swimming in her curious gaze. 

“What is it?” she asked after Madara didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Ah, right, so I was just wondering. What kind of ninjutsu can you perform that’s not your  _ kekkei genkai?”  _

“Ninjutsu” she trailed off, putting a hand to her chin. “I mostly use Wind Style and can do a little bit of Fire Style.”

“What about your taijutsu?”

“ _ Tai _ jutsu?” she echoed almost incredulously. “I don’t know. I was trained to dodge attacks a lot, but never deal them out.”

“Any genjutsu?”

“None. Why do you ask?”

Madara then turned to face her completely.

“Tomorrow morning, you’re starting your training,” he told her.

“Training?”

“Consider it more of an evaluation,” he clarified. “I just want to see what you can do. We can work up from there.”

“I’m curious. Why are you doing this?” she asked, raising a brow and folding her arms across her chest. 

“You said yourself that since you’re a part of the head Uchiha household, you want to do your best,” Madara pointed out. “Even if you’re not going to be on the battlefield, you still need to hold down the fort here. As the lady of the house, you’re in charge when we’re away.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” Hasuri said, tapering the end of her sentence with a chuckle but Madara caught the tension in her voice.

“Of course I do,” Madara confirmed. “You’ve helped me and Izuna more than you could possibly imagine.”

When her head turned and looked up at him, Madara noticed how wide her eyes were, how raised and upturned her brows were, the slight parting of those pink lips, and he couldn’t look away. Only when she spoke did she break her spell on him.

“Really?” Her voice was uncharacteristically high and, as a result, breathy. As if she had gasped or sighed the words. 

“Yes, really,” Madara said with a slight chuckle. “I know it may not seem like much, but your jutsu has saved our necks lots of times — literally.”

“Why won’t you let me do a full torso  _ Seisaikara  _ for you?” she asked. Her upturned eyebrows knitted together, shifting her expression of innocent shock back to concern. 

_ ‘Because of you, I can brave any injury without running the risk of immediate death. You allow me to truly enjoy the battles I fight. Anymore, and it takes away the fun.’  _

But Madara could never say that. Not to someone as pure and kind as her. She, who always tried to keep blood in while he constantly spilled it. 

“A few weeks ago, you came back with a nasty slash over your chest,” Hasuri recounted. “And all over your back and hands. You’re lucky the lungs weren’t punctured.”

Madara recalled that. It was right before he faced Hashirama that time. The last battle before he and Izuna struck their cousin and uncle. He was surrounded and exposed his left side as he raised his arms to strike. A Senju took the opportunity and took a running start at him, trying to slice through Madara’s body but Madara caught on, turning and stepping away while grabbing the blade with his hands. The sword cut into his left pectoral muscle; Hasuri’s  _ Seisaikara  _ surrounding his heart and nearby major blood vessels stopped the blade, and only then did Madara turn, causing the momentum of the sword to carve around his side. That was not a pretty sight, but Madara’s adrenaline managed to keep him going long enough to kill that audacious Senju and a few others before being treated by one of Hasuri’s clan members for emergency first aid. 

And Madara being Madara, once the wound healed at the deep tissue level, he took the bandages instead of medical ninjutsu and fought Hashirama as the blood dyed the bandages red. Naturally, it ended in a draw that left them both scuffed and exhausted; Madara also went home that day with a dull, aching fire in his chest — and it wasn’t from his wound. 

Just about every time he went out there, he’d face Hashirama. Every time he’d tell himself,  _ “This is the time. I will kill him.”  _ And every time, Madara couldn’t bring himself to do it no matter how hard he tried. Even when Hashirama would try to reason with him and call him his friend, Madara felt that fire burn and rage and drive his will, but in the end, it smoldered. 

“You never come back injured like that,” Hasuri continued. “What happened?”

“Somebody saw an opening and they took it,” Madara stated simply. “But I’m standing before you now, and they’re dead. So it’s fine.”

“You say that now, but how can you be so sure you’ll be that lucky again?” Hasuri stepped forward, her hands loosely together over her chest. 

It took every fiber of Madara’s being to not put his hands on her shoulders and pull her in. He simply turned away and scoffed with a half-smile.

“It’s not luck,” Madara said as he looked back at her, placing a hand on the top of her head. 

Her entire face relaxed as her eyes stared upwards at his hand. Under his rough, calloused palms and fingers, her hair felt so smooth and soft. He then craned his head forward until he was looking up at her rather than down and added, “It’s all thanks to my strength  _ and yours _ . And starting tomorrow, you’ll be getting even stronger.”

He then removed his hand. He couldn’t help but notice her stunned reaction: her widened eyes and raised eyebrows were his only indications. Otherwise, her expression was unreadable. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, he swore he saw a hint of rose on those pale cheeks. 

_ ‘Surely not. This moonlight is too dim to be certain.’  _ He turned, chuckling a little.

“Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said to her.

“Right! Good night, Madara,” she bid with a gentle smile.

As Madara laid in bed and staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, he cursed himself. He had so many opportunities, and he didn’t take them.

_ ‘Dammit…’ _

At the same time, Hasuri sat in front of the mirror in her room, brushing her hair. She stared at her reflection, the brush falling into her lap, as she gently placed her hand on her head — right where Madara had — in an attempt to recreate that feeling of him. The firmness and strength yet the tenderness and warmth that single gesture had. Hasuri squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as she let her arm fall.

_ ‘No, no, no!’  _ she scolded herself.  _ ‘You can’t act like a little girl anymore! You’re nineteen, not thirteen. You’re going to train with him. It’ll be rough because he’s a hardened warrior! Go to sleep. Your hair will get all messed up anyway.’ _

Still, in the back of her mind, Hasuri could just  _ hear  _ Shirayuri — or some other young, playful part of herself — teasing her. 

_ ‘Ooo, training? Just imagine him, sweat dripping down his skin, and he gets too worked up and takes off — ’ _

Hasuri brought her palms to the sides of her forehead and gave herself a series of quick hits. Sleep. She definitely needed some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. past couple weeks have been rough. and there's also the election going on. forgive me <3 notes time:  
> -Hinoki=Japanese cypress  
> -Kashiwa=daimyo/sweet oak  
> -Nagi=Asian bayberry  
> -Yakusugi=a special type of Japanese cedar from Yakushima ( _sugi_ means "cedar"). These trees live for a LONG time, most for more than 2000 years.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Listen while you read: [Nutcracker Pas de Deux, Tchaikovsky](https://youtu.be/YR5USHu6D6U)

* * *

The first thing Madara wanted to assess was Hasuri’s ninjutsu. Of course, her medical ninjutsu and her _Seisaikara_ were incredible, which meant her chakra control was impeccable, but he wanted to see her nature transformations. 

When they met in the clearing near the house mid-morning, Madara was stunned to see her in something that wasn’t her white linen _yukata._ It was [ a white linen kimono-style blouse ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0228/0911/6708/products/Motumo-Kimono-Style-Loose-Linen-Top-at-Amberoot-8_2048x2048.jpg?v=1576358028) much like a _hadagi_ wrapped over her torso and tied with a thin sash. She also had on dark-colored pants that hugged her legs. Though the pants were not skin tight, they ended halfway down her calves, so Madara could tell that her legs were just like the rest of her: long and willowy. However, his eyes did see parts on her thighs that were pulled taut. 

Her long black hair was tied in a single, thick loose plait that started at the nape of her neck and ran down her back. She held what seemed to be a simple paper folding fan in her hands, but when she handed it to Madara, he realized just how heavy it was. 

_‘A_ tessen…’ he noted. 

She used her fan to demonstrate her Wind Style, which Madara deemed impressive — especially for a handheld fan. Granted, it was a rather large handheld fan (when closed, it was the length of his arm from wrist to elbow), but nowhere near the size of his _gunbai_.

She also demonstrated some proficiency with Fire Style, but Madara figured that was something he would cultivate, starting with Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu. 

After that, Madara assessed her taijutsu but in a more hands-on approach. He stood up from his seat on the veranda and walked towards her. 

“You said you were trained to dodge, right?” Madara asked, putting his hands on his hips. 

She nodded. 

“Good. Avoid my attacks,” Madara instructed before swinging his leg up.

She quickly ducked by squatting and bowing her head down, but Madara had his other leg prepared to kick her in the face. She reacted quickly, jerking her head back as if Madara’s kick had made contact only for her back to arch and she flipped over onto her hands and back into a more alert squat with one hand on the ground between her legs and the other to her side. Her eyes watched him, brows slightly knitted down. 

Madara decided he would not use his Sharingan on her — not yet. The main reason was because this was the first day, and the lesser reason was because she was with his clan, so there was no need for her to learn to counter their genjutsu. As Hasuri stood up tall again, Madara charged at her, delivering a series of punches to her head and chest. She dodged just about every single one, save for the very last when Madara feigned one and left her open. Though she couldn’t avoid it, she held up her arm to block his hit. 

With this contact, Hasuri still didn’t let her guard down. She leaned into her arm, forcing Madara’s arm to swing back. 

_‘Alright, so she_ can _play offense,’_ he noted, a corner of his lips drawing back. He waited to see if she would continue her own attack, but she instead backed away several feet with her arms in front of her in caution.

_‘Shame. It would have been a good opportunity to turn the tables on me, but she’s been trained to avoid attacks, so…’_

Madara continued to throw punches and kicks at Hasuri, and as time went on, her dodges grew sloppy and she ended up blocking his hits more. Madara eventually dealt a kick into her side that she could neither block nor avoid, causing her to fall to the ground. As she pushed herself upright, her braid — the strands significantly mottled and undone — fell over her shoulder and down her front. Her kimono blouse had also loosened, and the breeze picked up, catching the loose fabric. As Hasuri wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, Madara’s eyes trailed down to her chest, which was noticeably bare beneath her shirt. Madara bit his bottom lip, choosing to avert to his gaze as he leaned towards her and offered her his hand. When she craned her head up to look at him, Madara fought the urge to stare directly down the loose neckline. 

She took his hand, and Madara pulled her to her feet. 

“That was good,” he commended.

“Really?” she asked between deep pants. “You haven’t even broken a sweat!”

“Well, I _am_ going easy on you,” Madara chuckled. 

_“Easy!?”_ Hasuri exclaimed. Her head hung as she groaned. Her hands then moved to her torso, pulling on the loose end of the sash holding her kimono-blouse together and undoing the knot. 

_‘Oh, shit…!’_ Madara quickly glanced to the side, but he could still see out of his peripheral.

She didn’t completely undo her top, only to pull the upper layer further back. He looked again only when she began retying the linen sash. The flowing blouse was now pulled flush against her body. In the moment before she completed the knot over her stomach, Madara could make out an extremely thin form and even the slight curves of her breasts. He gulped when he could see the imprints of her nipples through the fabric and quickly turned his head to the side. A fire lit up his bloodstream and raced to every corner of his body coursed through his veins. The primal urge that he had tucked away for more than nine months caused his fingers to twitch slightly. 

_‘Fucking dammit. No. Not here. Not now,’_ he repeated in his head and began to pace to occupy his mind and body. 

“Let’s get some water!” he suggested quickly. “I’ll race you to the river.”

“Race!?” she echoed. “But I’m a slow runner!”

“Then I’ll train you to be faster!” he declared with a smile stretching across his lips. “To make things fair, I’ll give you a three-second headstart.”

Hasuri let out another sigh as she stood beside him, some feet away. She then leaned forward, walking on her fingertips. She then bent her knees as one foot stepped back, bringing the knee to the earth while the other knee was near her face, her body against the horizontal thigh still standing. She then hiked her rear end up into the air, causing her heels to rise up and leaving only the balls and toes of her feet to make contact with the ground. The leg against the ground also straightened with a slight bend in the knees.

From this single act alone, Madara could tell she had experience racing. Was this really the girl who ended up so winded when she first came to their household? Perhaps she was better at sprinting rather than stamina...

“Go!” he exclaimed, and she shot forward, her braid flying behind her. She even kicked up dust as she took off.

 _‘Liar…’_ Madara chuckled to himself. _‘I shouldn’t have given you a headstart!’_

With that, Madara began to sprint at full force. He dared to believe that he was at her heels until the ground beneath them gave way to the pebbled shores of the river. Hasuri was already standing with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. 

“Huh…!” she panted. “I guess I — I won!”

“You sly _fox_ , you lied to me!” Madara exclaimed as he rested his hands behind his head. “You said you were a slow runner! That was _not_ slow!”

“Well, if I said I could run, then you’d totally destroy me!” Hasuri said, straightening her spine and even arching her back the opposite way to stretch. 

“You would’ve made for a decent opponent,” Madara admitted. “We race back _fairly._ Sound good?”

“Oh, _fine._ ” Hasuri rolled her eyes. “But you’re going to win.”

“Maybe so, but don’t let it deter you. It won’t be any fun if you give up so easily,” Madara said as he knelt down beside the flowing water to throw some onto his face. 

Right as he began to dip his hands into the water, he felt something against his back, and he found himself unable to keep his balance. All he could do was turn so that only his side hit the water. All the while, he heard the wild cachinnations from Hasuri. She practically doubled at the waist, one hand over her stomach and the other over her mouth as she laughed uncontrollably. Though the sounds that left her mouth were nowhere near the elegant chuckles, airy giggles, and soft huffs he was well acquainted with (not just from her, but all just about every woman he had encountered), hearing this sound of pure joy and sheer happiness was music to his ears, even her hiccuping when the cackles could no longer come through from how much she was laughing. Her eyes were squeezed tight, further pushed together by how much her cheeks bunched from her smile. 

He was stunned by the random audaciousness of this action. He had grown used to her gentle quietness like that of a tree, but he knew that the Hasuri he had heard so much about was finally coming out — the Hasuri he wanted to see. The loudmouthed, stubborn girl.

Madara, unable to say anything, smiled himself and retaliated by splashing water in her direction. She let out a little cry as she leapt back a little, but her jollity never left her. 

“So-sorry!” she said as she used the arm that had been over her waist to wave apologetically or dismissively. “I just had to!”

“That’s no way to treat your teacher, is it?” Madara feigned sternness as he got up to his feet with a smirk on his lips.

While her guard was still down, he lunged forward with a hand outstretched. Hasuri stopped laughing and tried to step out of the way, but it was too late; Madara had already grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards the river. She did resist his pull, but he was far stronger than she was, so he won. The water was halfway up Madara’s legs when he dragged Hasuri into the river with him, forcing her to step in with him. 

“Refreshing, is it not?” Madara said to her. “You must be sweaty. Let me help you cool off.”

He then bent down, cupping his hands in the river, only to forcefully throw the water he had gathered into her face. Hasuri must have seen that coming because her jaw dropped and she squeezed her eyes shut right as the water doused her face and left several droplets in her hair like the morning dew on a spider’s web. She brought her hands to her face, wiping away the water and shaking off the excess.

When she opened her eyes, she then kicked up a massive wave of water. Madara turned to the side that was already wet to shield him from her attack. He then returned with a kick of his own, but she must have anticipated it since she already took several jumping steps back, landing on the surface of the water instead of in it. Madara then stepped up himself and began to chase her.

“Forget the race! I’ll get you right here, right now!” he declared.

“We’ll see about that!” Hasuri stuck her tongue out and gave him a thumbs-down before she sprinted down the river with a cackle.

Madara didn’t wait. He immediately raced after her, but even then, he was barely at her heels. 

* * *

After dinner and bathing, Izuna informed Madara and Hasuri that he would be having a couple of guests over for the night — a warning for the two to occupy or at least brace themselves. 

Madara didn’t mind the subtle eviction, though. It was his method of spending time with Hasuri, chatting late at night in the clearing outside their house or walking around their settlement. For nine months, he kept trying to chip away that facade of timid austerity, and he believed he had finally broken the mask once and for all. 

After a brief discussion of training in the future, Madara chose to take a leap of faith. 

“So, will you dance for me now?” he asked.

“Huh?” Hasuri turned to look at Madara with a shocked yet confused look, her head tilting to one side. “Did I ever say I was going to dance for you?”

“Well, no, not explicitly,” Madara admitted, “but you said you liked to dance a while ago. I tried to get you to show me, but you said you weren’t good at it. After seeing you claim to be a slow runner and end up beating me twice, I’m inclined to not believe that one bit.”

“I can’t believe you actually remembered.” Hasuri folded her arms over her chest and looked away, her voice betraying her pout. Still, Madara had a feeling that she was actually looking forward to showing him. 

Even for a girl as cheeky as her, she still loved to play coy. He liked it, even if he had seen it for the past four years from other women. 

“Of course I remembered.” Madara put a hand on his hip. “It piqued my curiosity, and after seeing your moves today, I would very much like to see it now.”

“Are you sure?” Hasuri asked. “What if it’s so bad you must stop me on the spot?”

“I doubt that will happen,” Madara reassured. “If you need music, I’d be happy to provide you with a genjutsu.”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Hasuri exclaimed. 

Madara noticed how her voice suddenly pitched and how her body tensed up. She was nervous. 

“Well, whenever you’re ready,” Madara said, folding his arms across his chest. 

Hasuri then walked away from him and towards the center of the small clearing at the edge of the forest. She posed elegantly with her arms slightly rounded in front of her and her left leg behind her, the bottom of her foot facing upwards. Her slim hands seemed generally relaxed with her index and pinky fingers completely straight and her thumbs were under her index finger. She looked up and met Madara’s observant gaze. 

She began her dance by slowly bringing the knee of her back leg up until her left thigh was completely perpendicular to her body. She then moved her calf backwards until her leg was completely behind her. Her arms naturally opened, her left arm stretching in front of her while the right stuck straight out to the side. A breeze caused her long sleeves to gently flap. She held that pose for a moment before she began to bend her supporting leg at the knee, causing her torso to lean forward and her back leg to lift up even higher. She even bent her back leg at the knee, giving her a scorpion-like appearance. 

Her back leg then swung back to the earth, giving her momentum for a little twirl. Her arms flailed like ribbons at the end of a stick, and her legs followed the movements. At times, she would dip into graceful lunges with arms stretched in beautiful poses. She even performed incredible spinning leaps, kicking her legs wide in a near-perfect split in mid-air. 

Not once did she falter in her footwork. It looked as though she rehearsed these moves every day of her life, and Madara wondered if she was improvising or this was a dance she performed back home. She performed a few more spins but this time on the toes of one foot while the other leg was bent up, much like how her dance started. There were moments of rapid movements, high and intense kicks and swaying with brief moments of slow yet fluid posing. It reminded him very much of a taijutsu fight than a dance.

Madara also realized that he himself was also slowly spinning in place; this whole time, Hasuri had been dancing _around_ him, not in front of him, and he was naturally following her. 

At one point, she was before him, only some feet away. She developed her leg up from the bent position, only this time, it went out in front of her and little of the side. One of her arms stretched up above her head, causing the baggy sleeve to fall to her shoulder, and Madara saw the thin, willowy limb in the moonlight; the other arm was out to the side. She then rotated her torso to completely face him, her leg now behind her. The arm above her head flowed down until it was parallel to the ground; the other arm, though static, was now in front of her to the rotation of her body. Her face gazed up from the ground and met his eyes. He could hear her panting, but her expression showed no sign of exhaustion or strain. 

In a single word, Madara was enchanted. Without even thinking, he tried to take her hand with his, but right as he was about to wrap his hand around hers, she spun away, and the fabric glided right through his fingers. 

Still, Hasuri kept a dainty orbit, her head fixed on him as she stepped around him with her arms posed elegantly. She began to spin yet again, but Madara couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward and wrapped both arms around her waist. He matched the direction of her motion, and with her in his arms, he spun around as he lifted her off the ground ever so slightly. Her head leaned back, her arms wrapped around his neck, and Madara could feel her back arching. Though he couldn’t see, he knew she lifted her legs as well so that her body appeared as if it were about to fold over his arms. He was only certain that was the case since their height difference was not significant enough for him to pick her up high enough. 

When Hasuri lifted her head to face him again, they were only inches apart. Just them, and the world spinning around them. The only thing he could see clearly was her. To Madara, this was a dream. 

Once he slowed down and she returned her feet to the earth, neither of them let go of each other. For a moment, in the silence of the night, they held each other, looking into each other’s eyes. Both afraid and uncharacteristically timid. The air between them was still, as if neither of them dared to breathe.

 _‘Go for it. Do it.’_ A voice in the back of Madara’s head urged.

Right as he was about to lean forward, Hasuri’s arms lifted from him and she began to spin away from him. 

_‘No. This is now or never,’_ Madara told himself, and he reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

With a single pull, he brought her back into his arms, and as she looked into his eyes with her own wide ones, Madara leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, his eyes closing all the while.

 _‘Mmm...soft…’_ Madara noted. Just as he expected.

In that moment, the entire world melted away. He would have preferred for time to halt completely and spend the rest of his days like this. Time seemed to drag on forever as their kiss lingered.

And then he felt the cool air against his lips. He half-opened his eyes, finally seeing Hasuri’s face. To his dismay, he saw that her eyes were wide, her mouth was parted open, and her eyebrows were slightly raised. He could not read her at all. Something inside his stomach twisted. He quickly released his embrace and let his arms fall to his side, taking a few steps away from her. Neither of them looked away from each other’s deadlock gaze. They were both waiting. Waiting for one of them to apologize or step forward again or smile or laugh, _anything._ But nothing happened. 

At last, Hasuri broke the trance. She blinked once and stared to the ground. She folded her arms across her chest, but from the way she hunched her shoulders forward, it looked as though she was hugging herself. Closing herself off. Forming a barrier between her and him.

 _‘Fuck,’_ was the only thing Madara could think.

“I — uh — I’ll see you in the morning,” Hasuri blurted, her words melting together, before she dashed off back to the house.

Madara stood alone in the clearing for a while, closing his eyes and listening as her footsteps faded away. He furrowed his eyebrows down, feeling the frustration pile up on his shoulders, seep through his skin, and flow in his veins. 

Hasuri had been with them for more than nine months. He saw her every day when he was home. So close, yet so far out of reach. The fruit hanging over the pond. He turned from a man who saw a different woman every night to a boy in love chasing after a girl who didn’t want him. After everything he had seen today during training and that moment with her dance, the hot blood coursing through his body demanded a quick cooldown. No longer could he just wait aside for a few hours to distract himself from the tempting thoughts that flashed in his mind. And no longer could his bare hands be enough to satisfy him. 

_‘Fuck. I promised someone I’d visit them. Who did I see last? Hanari, was it not?’_ he recollected. _That’s right. It was after Father’s funeral.’_

Madara’s feet began to move while he still sifted through endless faces and names. His body acted separately from his own mind. While he struggled between just calling it a night or releasing this pent-up energy, his body already made up its mind. It was going to be satiated, and Madara realized too late that he didn’t have much say in the matter when he knocked on the door. 

It took a few minutes, but Madara saw the glowing golden light of a candle through the screen covering the windows of the doors. The doors slid open and out popped the face of Uchiha Amaya. Madara noticed the delighted surprise on her face, but he didn’t offer her a single explanation nor did he give her the chance to ask. He was already here. 

_‘Fuck it. I need this.’_

He leaned forward. Both of his hands went to her face, bringing their lips together into a passionate kiss. He could feel her smile with his lips. One hand left her face and moved behind him to slide the doors shut. The moment he cut off the rest of the world, her hands began to peel off his clothes. One hand moved to the back of her head, getting tangled in the vines of her dark hair. She gently nipped his upper lip, and he moved down to send a trail of kisses down her neck. 

Save for when Amaya took him by the hand and dragged him to her room, Madara kept his eyes closed during the entire affair. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to Hasuri, which only fueled his frustration. The girl beneath him was none the wiser and didn’t question his rougher treatment. From the sounds coming from her as the night went on, Madara figured she was enjoying it. 

Madara grabbed her hips and gave a final thrust, the grand wave of ecstasy washing over him. He collapsed, rolling onto his back. His breaths were heavy, and his body had a light layer of sweat. Still, Amaya rested her head on his bare chest, one of her arms over his stomach. Here was the part where Madara would plant a kiss into the girl’s hair, but not this time. He simply rolled his head to the side to look out the window. 

_‘Fuck, tomorrow morning’s going to be hard to explain…’_

At that point, Madara could no longer keep his eyelids open. He succumbed to the exhaustion of the long day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, content warning. this chapter is a lil darker/more disturbing than the rest of the story. there's mentions of honor killings and an implication of sexual assault. please read on with caution.

* * *

Listen while you read: [Nocturne No.20, Chopin](https://youtu.be/DqpPRj6UZqc)

* * *

Hasuri slowly blinked awake to the golden morning sun in her eyes, sleep still heavy on her lashes. She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket over her head in the hopes that she’d return to the peaceful sleep and wonderful dream she was having, but by then, it was too late; she had fully awakened. She pushed off the blanket and sat up, replaying the vivid dream in her head.

She was dancing in a clearing for Madara. He grabbed her and spun her. And then he kissed her. Her hand slowly raised, her fingertips gently touching her lips. She tried really hard to think of what happened next, but all she could remember was going back to the house. 

Her eyes widened upon the realization that that had not been a dream after all. She really did dance for him. He really did pick her up. He really did kiss her. 

And she was an idiot for not kissing him back. She had panicked and ran back home. Hasuri buried her face in her hands. 

_ ‘Great. Now I have to face him,’  _ she thought, the dread filling her chest.

She wanted to just curl up in bed all day and hide, not wanting to face whatever awkwardness now sat between her and Madara. Of course, that wish was quickly crushed by a knock on her door. 

“Hasu, you awake yet?” Izuna’s voice came through just the slightest bit muffled.

“Yeah,” Hasuri replied, standing up and beginning to fold up her  _ shikibuton  _ mattress. “You can come in if you want!”

A rumbling and scraping hum droned softly as Izuna slid the doors open. He didn’t step inside, however. He simply folded his arms over his chest, covering the exposed chest beneath his undone robe, and leaned against the door frame. A black cascade of his hair fell over his right shoulder. 

“When did your girls leave?” Hasuri asked as she folded up the blankets. 

“Eh, I don’t remember,” Izuna responded, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he half-smiled. “Definitely before sunrise, though.”

“Wow,  _ before  _ sunrise.” Hasuri chuckled. “Were they just too much for you and you couldn’t hold back, or did you manage to tire them out?”

“Well, well! What do we have here?” Izuna exclaimed with a grin stretching across his lips as his voice dripped with sarcasm.  _ “Lady Hasuri _ , I never knew you could be so crass!”

“I’ve lived you for nearly a year. I’m not stupid enough to know what goes on in these walls.” Hasuri shrugged. “So?”

“I’d say a bit of both,” he replied. “By the way, do you know where Madara went?” 

“Madara?” Hasuri echoed, turning her head to the side with the bundled sheets in her arms. “Is he out training? Or hunting?”

“He would have said something,” Izuna dismissed. “Even if it meant waking us up.”

“Huh…” Hasuri stood up, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you have any idea?”

“No.” Izuna shook his head. “I was hoping you did. Last I saw him was last night before I left you two alone.”

Hasuri tucked away the bedding in a large, box-like shelf before facing Izuna again. 

“Well, we  _ were _ together,” Hasuri admitted. Before she could grow too embarrassed just thinking about what had happened, she forced herself to continue. “But the night went on, and I went back to the house. I don’t remember him following me, though.”

Izuna put his finger and thumb against his chin, his eyes wandering to the ceiling. 

“Well, I might have an idea, but…” He then looked at the ground, closed his eyes, and shook his head. 

“But what?” Hasuri pressed, stepping in front of Izuna. 

Izuna was barely taller than Hasuri. But even so, Hasuri’s eyes were at the level of his nose, and she had to slightly lift her chin. She got obnoxiously close to his face, determined to get a response. 

“Nothing!” Izuna responded, turning his head to the side. His brows raised, and Hasuri noticed the smile on his lips. 

“Oh, c’mon! You can tell me!” Hasuri urged. “It’s just an idea, right? What’s the harm in telling me?”

“The harm is getting your  _ widdle _ heart broken, dear Hasu!” Izuna snickered, poking the center of Hasuri’s chest. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Hasuri scoffed as she covered her clothed chest with her hands and pouted, sticking her bottom lip out. 

“You think I don’t notice, Hasu?” Izuna put his hands on his hips and leaned towards hers. “The way you two eye fuck all the time? Or all the times you spend together?”

“We do  _ not!”  _ Hasuri shrieked as her face grew hot. 

“Ah- _ ha!”  _ Izuna exclaimed triumphantly, pinching one of Hasuri’s cheeks. “See! You’re blushing. Don’t deny it! I live here, too, so I see what’s going on. You can just admit it, Hasu. There’s no shame in it. In fact, it’s probably natural. Like you said, you’ve been living with us for nearly a year now.”

Hasuri’s brows furrowed. Of all the people in the world to be confronting her, it had to be Izuna. Madara’s younger brother. The only other person she spent the majority of her time with. 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit... _ weird  _ if I tell you, his younger brother?” Hasuri squeaked out. 

“Hasu, Madara and I have held orgies together,” Izuna said, folding his arms across his chest. “This is nothing, I promise.” 

Hasuri covered her mouth with her hand, preventing her jaw from dropping. She let out a huff of chuckle, stunned. She didn’t know what she expected from those two wild stallions. 

“Alright, alright. Fine. I admit that  _ maybe  _ I do like Madara as more than just a housemate or friend,” Hasuri said, squeezing her eyes shut with her hands clenched at her side. “But you can’t tell him!”

“And why the hell not?!” Izuna exclaimed. “If you’re afraid of him not sharing those feelings, don’t. He definitely has feelings for you.”

“Really?!” Hasuri grabbed Izuna’s arms, staring into his face with wide eyes. “You’re not just messing with me, are you?”

“Hasu.” She felt Izuna’s hands wrap around her elbows from underneath. He smiled gently. “He’s my brother. I’ve lived and fought side by side with him my entire life. I know him better than anyone. So believe me when I say he has feelings for you.”

Hasuri just gazed at Izuna’s face. His lips stretched back in a thin smile. His dark eyes soft and melting into hers as she scanned for any signs of a lie, of him playing some sort of cruel prank on her. 

A knocking on the front door filled the entire house, jolting the two out of the moment. Both of them quickly turned their heads down the hall.

“I’ll get it,” Hasuri said, stepping out of the room and brushing past him with a giddy heart. 

When she slid the door open, she was surprised to see the faces of Elder Yakusugi and another member of their clan. She immediately noticed the younger man’s distant expression and Elder Yakusugi holding a bundled blanket in his arms.

“Lady Hasuri,” Yakusugi greeted with a bow of his head. “If I may, I’d like to speak with you outside.”

“Of course.”

As Hasuri stepped through the door, the young man quickly bowed at the waist. She quickly reciprocated the gesture with a slight bow of her head. The three of them then sat at the front steps of the house.

“This is Tsuga,” Yakusugi introduced. “We have no time for formal greetings. Lady Hasuri, I’m going to return to our clan’s village. I’ll be gone for a few days. In the meantime, I ask that you take over the clinic.”

“Return? Whatever for?”

Yakusugi held out the bunched up blanket towards Hasuri. She looked down and found herself staring at the soft, reddish face of a sleeping infant. She let out a tiny instinctive gasp at the fragile lifeform that Elder Yakusugi cradled in his arms. She didn’t dare touch the child, but the realization set it.

“Why must you return home with the baby?” she asked. “It’s an Uchiha, is it not? Why must it go back to our clan?”

“It’s only half-Uchiha,” Yakusugi explained. “Tsuga is the father.”

Hasuri’s head snapped to the young man, who refused to meet her gaze. Sure, she was well acquainted with the idea that many infants and toddlers crawling around were Madara’s and Izuna’s children, but she had never heard of a Gūzō child being born on Uchiha grounds. 

“I still don’t see the problem,” Hasuri said. 

“You’re young, and much has changed in the Uchiha Clan between my arrival and yours,” Yakusugi began. “One thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that they don’t approve of marriage outside of their clan beyond political purposes, and especially not children out of wedlock. The stories of honor killings of non-Uchiha men, Uchiha women, and their illegitimate children are plenty. 

“You know that the Uchiha don’t believe women should be on the battlefield, so all of our bought clan members are men. Naturally, to prevent the shame of dirtying their blood, the Uchiha would castrate the men they bought. Thankfully, a lot has changed since then. When Madara and Izuna’s grandfather became clan leader, he lifted that rule, so I am among the last of our clan to have been subject to that.”

Hasuri couldn’t help but stare at Tsuga as Yakusugi recounted the history. She noticed the tears welling up in his eyes. She placed a hand against his back and moved it in large circles to comfort him. That only made things worse as Tsuga shoved his face in his hands, his body trembling under Hasuri’s touch. 

“Is it alright if I give you a hug?” Hasuri asked softly. 

Tsuga simply turned his body and buried his head into Hasuri’s shoulder. She placed her arms against his back, moving her hands in circles as his body heaved and shook with his silent sobs. 

“Forgive me, Lady Hasuri,” he weeped. “I didn’t want this to happen. I — I was sleeping when she — when she — ”

“It’s alright,” Hasuri comforted. “It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.”

“But-but he’s — he’s born now. I can’t — ” Tsuga’s speech was fragmented with his gasping hiccups. “I can’t let him die now that he’s here!”

Of course. Since the Uchiha stopped the castration of their Gūzō men, it was only natural that there had to be something else to deter them from lying with their women. In true Uchiha fashion, the only answer seemed to be bloodshed. At the very least, the victims would be the innocent child and Tsuga. Sending the child away back to the Gūzō land was the best option. 

_ ‘I’m impressed the mother kept the pregnancy a secret,’  _ she noted. 

“You’re leaving right away, Elder Yakusugi?” Hasuri asked. 

“Yes. I just had to ask you to handle the clinic while I’m away. I’ll be gone at the very most for a week,” he responded. “Rest assured, both of you. The child will be raised well.”

“The child isn’t going anywhere.”

Tsuga stopped his crying at once. Even Elder Yakusugi’s back straightened. Hasuri froze on the spot. She had never imagined Izuna’s warm and comforting voice to be so chilling. Of the three Gūzō, Hasuri was the first to move, turning her head to see Izuna standing in the doorway properly dressed in his dark-blue, high-collared shirt and his long black hair tucked into a low ponytail. His face was sullen and unreadable. Nothing like the Izuna just minutes ago, smiling and joking with her. 

“Lord Izuna!” Yakusugi gasped.

“That child cannot leave this village,” Izuna said, stepping towards the three Gūzō. “It has Uchiha blood, so it will one day awaken the Sharingan. We cannot have that power leaving our clan.”

“Please, sir!” Tsuga dropped to his knees. “I cannot return home with the child! She’ll say I — that I — ”

Tsuga couldn’t even complete his sentence before bursting into tears again. Hasuri felt her stomach twist at the endless possibilities of what the mother of his child threatened him with. She had to step in.

“Izuna, if he goes back with the child, it will spell his  _ and  _ the child’s death,” she said gently. “Please, let Elder Yakusugi drop the child off at our home village.”

“I told you, Hasu. That child cannot leave Uchiha grounds.” Izuna stood firm.

“Then surely there must be a place that will take in the child,” Yakusugi offered. 

“Questions will arise about this child’s parents,” Izuna said. “No Uchiha parent would abandon their child. And even if we lie and say it was an orphan we found, the child will still awaken its Sharingan in due time. We’d have even more problems then.”

“What do you suggest we do here, Izuna?” Hasuri demanded. 

She watched as Izuna bit his bottom lip, and she already knew his answer.

For a moment, she considered just taking in the child. But what would that mean for her? The rumors that she and Madara had slept or had been sleeping together still ran among the Uchiha Clan. No doubt if an infant were to appear, they would attack her like vultures spotting carrion. Even if Madara and Izuna protected her, who was to say some other member wouldn’t come after her, believing the child was her and Madara’s, and kill her themselves? Izuna seemed to have already considered this since he didn’t mention it. 

“Give me the child,” Izuna ordered Yakusugi, holding his hands out. 

“What are you going to do!?” Tsuga exclaimed, causing the other three to shush him to prevent attracting outside attention.

“I will take the child’s eyes,” Izuna declared. “Once that’s done, you can take him back to your village.”

Hasuri’s stomach dropped to her knees, and her eyes widened in horror. Was that truly the only option they had? 

“Is there really no other way?” she asked in disbelief. “This is a  _ baby  _ we’re talking about here!”

“A baby that will grow and one day awaken its Sharingan. If it leaves the village, then the secrets of the Uchiha will be leaked. Believe me, I don’t want anyone to be killed. This is the only way.”

Hasuri just hung her head in defeat as Elder Yakusugi handed Izuna the infant. 

_ ‘It’s alright. It’s going to be alright. It’s probably not even a day old. It won’t remember this pain.’  _ Hasuri closed her eyes and drew deep breaths, trying to convince herself that this was truly the best option. 

Suddenly, she felt a hand push her shoulder. She turned her head to see Yakusugi.

“Help him,” he instructed. 

“What? Why me?” Hasuri asked in a hiss. 

“I am old and will be gone. You, Madara, and Izuna are the ones who lead our clans. It is part of your duty to be at their side as a Gūzō of the Uchiha.”

Hasuri glanced back to Izuna, who stood at the top of the steps of the veranda. Waiting. 

“And as the Gūzō of the leaders, you will encounter many more things about their clan that we don’t agree with. This is one of many,” Yakusugi said. “Now, go.”

“Yes, sir.” Hasuri bowed her head in defeat. 

Hasuri then took a few wide strides, skipping steps up the veranda until she was at Izuna’s side. Together, they walked back into the house, Hasuri sliding the doors shut behind them. They sat at the step of the  _ genkan  _ entryway, Izuna cradling the child. She gazed into his eyes and saw the dull pain in them; he didn’t want to do this.

“I can do it if you want,” she spoke up. “With my medical ninjutsu, it’ll be saf — ”

“No, I have to do this,” Izuna declined quietly. “As part of the leading Uchiha family, this is my responsibility.”

Izuna then held out a hand, hooking his index finger. He used the middle section of his finger and caressed the baby’s soft cheek over and over. The infant stirred gradually as Izuna continued to awaken it. Though the infant’s eyes were still closed, he stuck his tiny hand out and wrapped it around his finger. Izuna froze in place. He then straightened and curled his finger slowly, continuing the slow stimulation to awaken the child. 

At last, the baby opened his eyes. Hasuri saw Izuna close his eyes, draw a deep breath, and open his eyes wide, his black irises replaced with the familiar red of the Sharingan. Hasuri understood now; Izuna was placing the child under a genjutsu so that it wouldn’t move or cry out. The baby’s hand slid off of Izuna’s fingers, and Izuna reached for the infant’s face with his first two fingers and his thumb.

_ “Forgive me.”  _ Hasuri caught Izuna’s words, barely above a whisper. 

Hasuri couldn’t look any longer. She squeezed her eyes tight as Izuna’s fingers pressed against the baby’s skin around its eye. 

The sounds were unlike anything she had ever heard. She could pinpoint the exact moments Izuna removed the eyes from their sockets based on the grisly noises alone, and it made her stomach churn. 

“It’s done,” Izuna said at last. 

When Hasuri opened her eyes again, Izuna held out the infant, and Hasuri almost screamed at the sight. She quickly took the infant and laid it across her lap, placing her hand over its eyes to close its eyelids. She began her healing jutsu, and when that happened, the baby began to writhe and scream. 

She watched as Izuna held out his hand, stained with blood. She could see his blank expression as an orange-yellow flame developed in the palm of his hand. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and it worsened Hasuri’s nausea. 

When the flames disappeared, Izuna tilted his hand over, allowing the sprinkles of white ash to fall to the stone floor. His eyes followed the ash, and he didn’t say a word or move an inch. Hasuri took it upon herself to stand up, rocking the infant, humming to it, and rubbing its back.

She slid open the door where Yakusugi and Tsuga stood right outside. She held out the child to Tsuga, who kissed its forehead with a pained expression on his face and tears trailing down his face. He then handed his son to Elder Yakusugi. 

“Please, make sure he finds a good family,” Tsuga begged.

“Of course,” Yakusugi reassured before turning to Hasuri and told her, “If any patients need help, I’ve left a message on my door telling them to come here. Forgive me for taking such initiative.”

“It’s alright,” Hasuri said. “Just travel safely, Elder Yakusugi.”

“I will.” Elder Yakusugi bowed. “Thank you, Lady Hasuri. Come, Tsuga. I’ll walk you back.”

“Thank you, Lady Hasuri.” Tsuga bowed. 

“Thank you, Lord Izuna,” the two Gūzō men said before leaving. Once they had left the front courtyard, Hasuri then turned to Izuna. 

Wordlessly, Hasuri stepped back inside the house and wrapped her arms around Izuna, one hand on the back of his shoulder and the other hand drawing large circles on his back. She felt Izuna’s arms across her back and his face dig into her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Hasu,” came his muffled whispers. “I’m sorry you had to do this.”

“It’s alright,” she comforted. “You did what was best.”

In that comforting embrace, they exchanged a silent vow: they would never speak of this incident to anyone, not even Madara. 

* * *

Madara sat up, the regret clinging to him like Amaya still sleeping on his chest. 

_ ‘Fuck…’  _ he thought, prying off her arms and slipping out of her bed.  _ ‘I’m such a fucking idiot.’ _

Madara quickly dressed himself and rushed out the door, realizing that half the day had already passed. He cursed himself for not keeping his cool last night and for caving into his primal desires. He couldn’t believe how foolish he had been. 

How was he going to face Hasuri back home? The night he spent with Amaya didn’t make him forget about how awful he felt nor did it make him question his feelings for Hasuri. If anything, those two things were accentuated. 

As he briskly approached his home, he noticed the familiar banners of a nearby country. The time had come for yet another battle. He picked up his pace to a steady jog, seeing Izuna and Hasuri standing outside. 

“Ah, there he is!” Izuna exclaimed, causing the messengers to turn. 

“Lord Madara,” bowed one of the messengers, holding out a scroll.

He took it and unraveled it, reading the formal calligraphy. He didn’t really read much of it other than the rewards section, which was quite hefty. 

“Consider it done,” Madara declared. “In two days’ time, we’ll be on the battlefield.”

“We thank you for your generous service, Lord Madara.” The messengers bowed again and began to leave. 

The three members of the leading Uchiha household stood and watched the visitors leave. By that point, it seemed that the whole clan had seen the familiar banners and stood along the side of the streets. Madara knew that he had to quickly call a meeting this very night. He sighed. He just couldn’t get a break, could he?

“Where were you?” Izuna demanded once everyone went on about their day. “Do you have any idea how much Hasu was worried about you?”

“Izuna!” Hasuri exclaimed, slapping Izuna’s upper arm. Madara noticed her face scrunching up and the slight pout of her bottom lip. She didn’t seem to be  _ too  _ angry. “We were  _ both  _ worried. But you came back just in time for lunch! C’mon! Let’s eat! Neither of us had breakfast yet!”

With that, Hasuri grabbed Madara and Izuna’s arms and dragged them back inside the house. Despite the skipping of his heart, Madara still felt so guilty. Why was that the case? He had fucked numerous women before. He broke hearts and promises with ease. So why did he feel so strongly for this one woman? 

As he watched her and Izuna play around with a strip of meat that had fallen on the table, daring each other to eat the dirtied flank, he realized that she was more than just a woman. Before him were two of the people he loved most in this world, the people for whom he’d happily lay down his life for, the people he lived for. 

He wanted to see their smiles every day. He wanted to hear their boisterous laughter every day. In that moment, as Hasuri and Izuna constantly passed that piece of food between each other’s bowls, Madara knew peace. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t have to leave in two days because there was no fighting. Just them, having fun with their lunches like innocent children. 

Madara wished he could stretch that moment out for all time. Freeze the blood in his veins and his brother’s, never to be spilled again. Stop the petals of the plum blossom tree from quivering, falling, and wilting, forever staying fresh. This love, this youth, for all eternity. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh happy 2021! it's only been a LITTLE more than month since I last updated. lots of things have happened, is all. enjoy this slightly lengthy, slightly all-over-the-place chapter!

* * *

Listen while you read: [Raindrop Prelude, Chopin](https://youtu.be/HVau-JRGirg)

* * *

While the Uchiha Clan held their critical meeting for the upcoming battle, the Gūzō Clan gathered in their usual place. Hasuri wanted to check on Tsuga — if he was going to the meeting at all. As her clansmen began to converse, she scanned the crowds for Hinoki, Kashiwa, and Nagi. 

“Oi, Hasu!” she heard someone shout. She turned her head until she saw the three of them, waving to her.

Indeed, there were her peers, four young men with straight black-brown hair of varying lengths and styles and all dressed in white. She pulled up the skirts around her legs and jogged towards them, a smile on her face.

“I didn’t know you knew each other!” she beamed, looking at Tsuga.

Though his face was still deathly pale and the bags around his eyes prominent, his soft smile reassured Hasuri. 

“He stopped coming to gatherings right around the time you showed up,” Kashiwa explained. “We were just introducing him to Nagi and you, too, but it seems you already met him.”

“Ah, yeah!” Hasuri chuckled nervously. “We only met earlier today, in fact. Elder Yakusugi is out for a few days, so I’m handling the clinic for him. Tsuga came to me to treat his cold!”

“From how shit he looks, I’d say it’s more than a cold,” Hinoki teased. “Seriously, where have you been? Your Uchihas working you too hard?”

“Y-yeah…!” Tsuga agreed, though it looked as though he was still processing Hasuri’s lie. 

“Unlucky that we finally get to see you again, but we head back to the battlefield tomorrow,” Kashiwa sighed. He then turned to Hasuri. “You said Elder Yakusugi is out for a bit, yeah? Why don’t we head to your place instead of just hanging around here?”

“Is that a good idea?” Nagi questioned warily. “It’s Lord Madara and Lord Izuna’s place after all.”

_ “And  _ it’s Hasu’s!” Hinoki piped up, slinging an arm across Nagi’s shoulders. “Just because we were bought by the Uchihas, that doesn’t make us their slaves. It’s part of the agreement between clans that we’re treated like family, or at the very least, guests.”

Hasuri glanced to Tsuga, who just stared at the ground. Part of the agreement, yes, but once the Uchiha leader signed away a purchased Gūzō to a different clan member, all bets were off. 

She was lucky. Though she had the misfortune of being born into a clan where its leader sold its members and family to other clans, she was lucky enough to have been born into the main bloodline, the strongest users of their  _ kekkei genkai.  _ She was lucky enough to have been bought by the leader of one of the strongest clans. She was lucky that Tajima, Madara, and Izuna treated her kindly. She was lucky to have met her fellow clan members and made her own little group of friends. 

The five young Gūzō made their way to the head Uchiha house. The four young men all sat down at the table while Hasuri brewed some tea and snacks. She stacked mung bean pastry squares (she made several batches with Izuna while Madara was gone yesterday) in a pyramid on a small plate and walked out, placing it in the center of the table. She took a seat at the head of the table while the four men split, two on each of the long sides. Hinoki and Nagi on her left, and Tsuga and Kashiwa on her right. 

“So, Tsuga, are you gonna tell us why you haven’t been coming?” Hinoki asked, propping his elbow onto the table and leaning his cheek into his hand. 

Hasuri’s eyes darted to the young Gūzō closest to her right. Just her luck that Tsuga met her wary gaze. She watched as his shoulders heaved with a grand sigh. And he began his whole story, confiding in them.

As they listened, Hasuri fully understood Tsuga’s plight: the seventeen-year-old daughter of the Uchiha family that he was assigned to became infatuated with him. Tsuga, eighteen himself, knew better and rejected all her advances, but that didn’t seem to dissuade her. She took advantage of him in his sleep and threatened to cry to her parents that Tsuga had forced himself on her if he tried to expose her secret. 

Tsuga dreaded the pregnancy but couldn’t do a thing or say a word. When the Uchiha girl discovered that she was pregnant, she went through drastic measures in an attempt to get rid of the fetus, but her pregnancy persisted. She could only confide with Tsuga about such an issue. When she gave birth, she told Tsuga to send the infant elsewhere, refusing to touch or even look at it. At this point, Hasuri went to serve the tea, knowing how the rest of the story ended. 

She placed the smooth, pale cream-colored porcelain cups and full teapot onto a black lacquered tray. When she returned to the table and placed a cup before her friends, she could see their expressions: mixes of horror, disgust, and sympathy. Hasuri gave Tsuga his cup, placing a hand on his back and giving him a few large circles of comfort. Tsuga looked at her and smiled appreciatively. 

“So, a cold, eh, Hasu?” Hinoki said lightheartedly in an attempt to break the sad silence. 

“I didn’t know if Tsuga wanted to reveal everything,” Hasuri defended herself gently as she filled the five cups with fresh tea.

She then picked up her cup of tea and held it out toward the center of the table.

“To you four, going back to the battlefield, and to your survival,” she cheered. 

The four guys held their cups up, the porcelain clinking together as the five of them made contact with everybody else’s cups. They then took slow and careful sips, blowing against the surface of the piping hot tea to avoid burning their tongues. 

Tsuga then held out his cup again, adding, “To you four, for listening to me.”

“ _ Ohhh,  _ you don’t need to cheer us for that!” Kashiwa dragged down Tsuga’s arm, his voice betraying his pulled heartstrings. “We’re your friends! We would have helped you if we knew!”

“Still, I’m grateful for you three and for Lady — I mean, Hasu,” Tsuga said. 

“To Tsuga, the strongest man I know,” Nagi declared, holding up his cup.

“To Tsuga!” Hasuri, Hinoki, and Kashiwa echoed. Tsuga, embarrassed, still brought his cup to theirs, and they all sipped their hot tea again.

* * *

As Madara and Izuna paced through the dusk, Madara sensed up ahead the presence of more than just one person in their house. His instincts pricked up, stopping in his tracks to focus on the chakra signatures.

_ ‘Hasu…’  _ he noted.  _ ‘...and three? No, four others.’ _

He looked ahead, seeing the lights on through the screen doors and windows. He didn’t hear any loud noises, so he assumed Hasuri invited these guests. Her fellow clan members, if he had to guess. Unless she managed to befriend some Uchiha girls, but Madara didn’t think that was possible. Most of the girls in their late teens were at the clan meeting, too. So unless Hasuri ever babysat for another household, it was unlikely that the guests in their house were Uchihas. 

As the two brothers approached the front door, Madara heard laughter. He could make out Hasuri’s warm rumbling chuckles. Shadows against the closed screen door grew smaller and the outlines sharpened as it slid open. 

When Hasuri saw him and Izuna standing at the base of the front steps, her smile disappeared. Her eyes widened, and her mouth instantly sealed shut. The laughter from the four men behind her also died down. As Madara expected, they were Gūzōs. Much like Hasuri, they wore plain white linen  _ yukata _ , had golden-toned skin (though the exact shades varied), and had black hair and eyes. 

The four men bowed at the waist while Hasuri just hung her head. 

“What, no invite?” Izuna piped up, breaking the tense silence. 

“Not like you could’ve gone even if you wanted to,” Hasuri murmured, looking up at the brothers with a half-smile on her face.

“We’ll get out of your way,” Madara said abruptly, almost as if he was rushing the conversation to end. 

“Right, thanks,” Hasuri said, her eyes darting to the floor. 

_ ‘Please, just look at me. Just once. Please,’  _ he pleaded as his gaze seared into her face. 

Hasuri stepped forward onto the veranda and down the steps. Never breaking her gaze with the floor as she strolled between the brothers except for a moment when she glanced at Izuna, who just gave her a pressed-lip smile and a nod. Madara watched as his younger brother joined the men following Hasuri as they made their way to the edge of the front clearing that marked the end of the head Uchiha property. He stood there, alone and bathed in the golden light that poured out of the open front door. 

He watched as Hasuri stood in front of two of her clan members. She performed hand seals and held out her hands. Madara noticed the faint glow and realized she was performing her  _ Seisaikara no Jutsu  _ on the two of them. Something inside him pricked the back of his neck as her hands pressed against the center of their chests. 

And when she did it to the other two, his hands clenched into fists and his teeth grinded together. 

But why was he getting mad at her interacting with other men when he was the one who went and fucked another woman? He bit his lip at his shame and hypocrisy. 

_ “Remember, only undo it when you need the extra chakra…!”  _ Traces of her liquid caramel voice floated into his ears. 

_ “Thanks, Hasu!” _

_ ‘Hasu…’  _ he noted, his arms folding over his chest. So they considered themselves close enough with her to call her by her nickname and not the usual  _ “Lady Hasuri”  _ from everyone else.

_ “Be careful out there!”  _ she bid, her voice sounding more clearly from across the yard.  _ “Remember, do what it takes to survive.” _

_ “Yes, ma’am!” _

With that, the four visitors began to walk away. Madara noticed Izuna turning and saying to Hasuri (the words were imperceptible but Madara had his Sharingan activated, though he didn’t know when),  _ “I’ll walk Tsuga back. You go talk to Madara.” _

_ “What?! You’re just going to leave me alone with him?!” _

_ “You two need to talk. I’m serious. I meant what I said earlier.” _

_ “Ugh... _ fine.  _ But if things go wrong — ” _

_ “They  _ won’t. _ ” _

_ “Okay...just don’t be gone too long, will you?” _

Izuna chuckled.  _ “Okay, okay. I’m just going to make sure Tsuga’s alright. See ya.” _

_ “Later.” _

With that, Izuna jogged away. For a moment, Hasuri stood still; that moment felt like an eternity to Madara. She turned her head, accidentally looking directly into his eyes. His heart skipped a beat, only to drop when she quickly looked to the ground again. With his Sharingan still activated, the world felt as though it slowed down. He clearly saw the movement of her feet and the flowing of the fabric over her legs as if she were in front of him and not across the yard. He couldn’t bear the minutiae and deactivated his Sharingan.

Her footsteps against the dirt grated his ears. When she was before him in her heavenly white clothes, he stepped to the side and gestured to the front steps.

“Care to sit with me out here for a bit? Until Izuna gets back?” he offered, watching her face carefully.

She didn’t look up. She just stared at the wooden planks of steps. Her eyes slightly widened. The dread welled up in Madara’s stomach, and he felt a little dizzy just waiting for her response. It took everything in his power to not lean against the railing behind him.

“Sure,” she responded, turning around and sitting on the middle step.

Madara internally sighed with relief. He sat beside her, leaving a decent gap between their bodies. The foot of empty space felt thick with the awkwardness; Madara figured he could have taken a kunai and cut the air between them. 

He watched as she gazed up into the sky, the pale moonlight bathing her face in silvery-white light while the light from the inside of the house doused her back with orange-gold. She was his fire that thawed him from the ice of hate. She was his ice that quelled his infernal rage. She was the source of his fiery hot desire and the source of this icy purgatory he was trapped in. 

“The moon’s so bright tonight!” she said, her lips curling back in a slight smile. “It’s not quite full, but it’s still beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Madara quickly shifted his eyes upward towards the sky, only for them to naturally gravitate back to her calming face. “Beautiful.”

Her shoulders heaved slightly as she let out a gentle sigh through her nose and looked to the ground. As if she were the mother of the earth itself, a breeze immediately picked up. Madara felt his chin-length bangs sway, the locks over his right eye revealing the world like curtains. 

His chest felt like it was going to burst if he was just going to keep waiting for her to say something,  _ anything  _ about that night. He broke his observant gaze in the hopes that he’d ease his pounding heart and cool his burning face, but to no avail. If anything, it made his anxiety skyrocket, not being able to determine her next move from minute movements of her face and body. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to bring it up if she wasn’t going to. After all, he was the one who invited her to sit with him, right? He drew a deep inhale through his nostrils and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” they said at the exact same time, their voices melting and blending together like rich caramel and dark chocolate. 

The two of them then turned their heads to look at each other, both stunned. Madara found himself staring right into Hasuri’s widened eyes and parted, plush lips. He then let out a soft chuckle, a huff of air escaping his own lips as his diaphragm pushed upward and forced an exhale. Hasuri giggled, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers. 

“What are you sorry for?” Madara asked as he turned his head away, the smile still lingering on his lips.

“For running away, of course!” Hasuri exclaimed. “I was...stupid. It’s just...I’ve never kissed a boy before... _ like that _ .”

“What?!” Madara was incredulous. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true!” Hasuri folded her arms over her chest. “My uncle and aunt were very protective of me and my sister since, you know, head family. I know it’s not an excuse! I shouldn’t have run away! But... what are  _ you _ sorry for?”

“For kissing you like that,” he answered. “I thought I stepped out of line with that.”

“No, no!” Hasuri exclaimed, turning towards him and grabbing his arm. “Don’t feel bad! I — ah, well…”

With her hands still on his bicep and forearm, she looked away for a moment. Madara watched as she took a deep breath. He felt her squeeze his arm as she winced. He quickly put his free hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. The space between them had significantly narrowed. 

“I liked it,” she blurted, her confession coming out so fast that he nearly didn’t catch it at all. “  _ And  _ I was just wondering...since you’re so  _ experienced… _ ” 

She then looked directly into his face with the biggest, purest eyes. “...if you would teach me?”

The corners of his lips pulled back as he let out another huff of a gentle chuckle.

_ ‘Yes. I will teach you. I will teach you  _ everything _ ,’  _ he wished he could say. Instead, he placed his hands along the sides of her face, the skin of her soft cheeks cushioning his palms.

“Only if you want me to,” he said.

“I do,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyelids relaxed, leaving her eyes only half-open. 

“Then close your eyes,” he instructed, and she did so.

With that, he sealed the space between them, his lips meeting hers as he too closed his eyes. The warmth of her face enveloped his. He could feel a gentle puff of air against the skin of his upper left as she barely exhaled through her nose. He slightly parted his mouth in order to push his bottom lip against hers. It took every ounce of self-restraint to not use his teeth and nip at her bottom lip like he was used to with other women. 

_ ‘Not yet...it’s too soon…’ _

When he felt her reciprocate his mouth movements against his upper lip, he couldn’t help but smile.

_ ‘At least she’s a quick learner.’ _

* * *

It had been two days since all of the Uchiha and Gūzō men left for battle. Two days since that wonderful night when Madara kissed her  _ again.  _ Hasuri often found herself touching her lips when she wasn’t thinking. The two kisses they shared were probably nothing compared to more heated ones he most certainly had shared with other women before. She wanted to know what  _ those  _ kisses were like — she  _ craved  _ them, and she feared that before long, she’d start to need them.

Speaking of other women, Madara had confessed that in the debacle of their first kiss, he slept with someone again — the first time in nearly ten whole months and since Hasuri’s arrival. A woman named Amaya. It stung a little hearing that, if she had to be honest, but she was surprised to hear him confess it to her like it was a sin. Of course, he did tease her by saying that she invited four men into their home, so their jealousies were matched. 

And when the brothers left, Hasuri wanted to kiss Madara goodbye, just in case it would be their last even though she knew there was no way someone of their caliber could die on the battlefield. Of course, Izuna was there, which would have made things awkward since they didn’t tell anybody about their encounters. In fact, Hasuri wasn’t even sure what to make of their relationship. Were they lovers now? Or somewhere between lovers and friends? She didn’t get a chance to confirm it before he left.

It wasn’t like Hasuri was alone these past couple of days, however. She was occupied with tending to Uchiha children and women. Many of the toddlers she treated (mostly scraped knees and sprained wrists) bore resemblances to Madara and Izuna, but Hasuri constantly repressed those thoughts. But the smug looks on their mothers’ faces made Hasuri want to snap at them. Something completely uncouth like  _ “what are you looking at me like that for? Are you mad that your affair is over? Are you mad that I’ve taken him from you?” _ but she could never. 

Still, whenever an Uchiha woman came with either a baby, a toddler, or even a swollen belly and had the condescending smirk on her face when she told Hasuri of whatever ailment plagued her or her child, Hasuri found her skin prickling with heat and resisted the urge to slap the other woman with the back of her hand way more often than she would have liked. Of course, Hasuri always convinced herself that she was better than that, that she shouldn’t stoop to their level, and that the children were innocent and deserved to be treated properly.

Still, it was hell. She was convinced that those women only visited her temporary clinic in order to check on her situation with Madara. Ten months since her arrival and since Madara stopped seeing women, and Hasuri was still barren. They wanted to let her know that Madara was theirs, but Hasuri knew the truth. She knew that if Madara truly wanted, he could have laid with them at any time. But he didn’t. Hasuri had his heart, and she knew it. She wanted to let the whole world know it, but it was up to Madara. After all, what would his clan think of him falling in love with a non-Uchiha?

On the afternoon of the third day, Hasuri was planning on doing some training with Fire Style when a young woman came up to the house. She was alone, and she had a wide  _ obi  _ tied around her waist, displaying her curvaceous hourglass body even through her clothes. Her stomach, Hasuri noted, was flat.

“How can I help — ” Hasuri began as the woman ascended the steps; however, she just breezed by her as if Hasuri wasn’t even there.

_ And  _ she strolled right through the front door and into the house. Hasuri bit her bottom lip. She swallowed her bruised pride and followed the young woman into the house. 

“Can I help you?” Hasuri asked a little more urgently. 

The beautiful Uchiha woman turned to face her. 

“Show me Madara’s room,” she said. 

Hasuri felt her eyebrows raise, pulling her eyes open wide with them. She felt her spine straighten and lean back, her chin slightly lifting. 

“I’m sorry?” Hasuri blinked. When the woman raised a perfectly carved brow, Hasuri quickly recovered, adding on, “How about I make some tea for you first?”

She forced herself to pull up the corner of her lips ever so slightly to keep a gentle demeanor. She then led the woman to the table, and once she sat down, Hasuri made her way into the kitchen to prepare the tea. She watched as the woman gazed around, her face unreadable. Once the kettle began to release steam, she extinguished the flames. She poured the water from the kettle into the  _ kyusu  _ teapot and — after a short while — from the  _ kyusu  _ into two teacups. She poured the excess water still in the  _ kyusu  _ into a separate pitcher. 

Hasuri then placed the dried tea leaves in a sieve into the teapot, pouring the hot water from the teacups back into it. She placed the lid onto the pot before taking the  _ kyusu  _ and the two teacups onto a tray, carrying it out to the table and placing down. She took a seat on the opposite side of the table from the young Uchiha woman. As she began to pour and serve the tea, the woman said, “Wow, you Gūzō servants really are worth all the trouble.”

Hasuri immediately stopped pouring the tea at that. Her grip on the teapot tightened, but she forced herself to resume filling the cups.

“We’re not servants,” Hasuri reminded, forcing herself to sound nice. “But if you want one of my clansmen in your house, I can tell Madara that you requested one — ”

“I can see why Madara was so obsessed with you,” the woman continued, putting her hand against her cheek as Hasuri placed one of the tea cups in front of her. “I’m glad to be joining the family and experiencing your service firsthand.”

“I’m sorry?” Hasuri’s head snapped to look the woman in the eye, one of her eyebrows raising all the while; she couldn’t maintain her hospitable composure any longer.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” the woman’s lips curled back in a smirk as she lifted the tea cup and brought it to her lips. “Madara and I are getting married.”

Hasuri’s eyebrows completely lifted, naturally tugging her upper eyelids upwards. Her mouth slightly parted, and it took everything in her power to not drop her jaw entirely. The woman’s smirk only grew at Hasuri’s reaction, but she still tried to save face as her mind raced a million miles an hour.

“Oh?” Hasuri then glanced down at her full cup. “Congratulations. When did he propose?”

_ ‘Madara would never lie to me. Those nights were real. His feelings that night were real...weren’t they?’ _

“He hasn’t proposed yet,” the woman replied, “but when he finds out I’m pregnant, I just know he’ll propose.”

“Well, I’m sure you know this better than I do,” Hasuri began, bringing her warm cup to her lips, “but a pregnancy has never bound Madara to any woman before.”

“But I’m not just  _ any  _ woman,” she purred. “Unlike the other Uchiha women, I don’t have a family. And unlike  _ you _ , I am a rightful Uchiha. Madara is the leader of our clan, so it’s only natural that he wants pureblooded children to carry on his legacy and not whatever mutt comes out of you. And since I was the one to break him out of whatever spell you’ve put him under, of course he’ll choose me!”

Hasuri met the woman’s eyes with daggers as she took a sip of her tea. Her blood was as hot as the water in the cup. Taking the drink forced her to calm down and think.

_ ‘Okay. Madara said he slept with a woman named Amaya the night we first kissed and I ran away. Madara said that she had no family but a lot of money from her inheritance, and that she was one of the women he visited the most. This must be her. Uchiha Amaya,’  _ she recollected. _ ‘But Madara hasn’t been with anyone in nearly ten months. If she’s pregnant, she’s only days into it. It’s impossible to know for sure.’ _

As Hasuri placed her cup back onto the table, she composed herself enough to ask her final question:

“So, how far along are you? You look great for someone who’s carrying.”

Amaya raised a perfectly carved brow.

“Oh, just a couple months,” she responded flippantly.

“Really?” Hasuri couldn’t hide the mockery. “Well, considering you’re that far along, I hate to tell you that Madara can’t be the father.”

“Excuse me?” Amaya frowned.

“You think I don’t know?” Hasuri put her forearms against the table and leaned forward ever so slightly. “You think Madara doesn’t tell me  _ every _ thing? I know he paid you a visit five days ago. I know he hasn’t seen any other woman for the past ten months other than you. I won’t accuse you of faking a pregnancy just yet since it’s too early to tell, but you’re not going to walk into  _ my  _ house and call me  _ your  _ servant.”

“This is not  _ ‘your house,’”  _ Amaya spat back, slapping the table and jumping to her feet. “This is the house of the head Uchiha family, and you’re just an outsider we bought! I’ve known Madara for far longer than you, so how  _ dare  _ you think you’re close to him?!”

“You may have known Madara for a longer period of time,” Hasuri began, standing up and smoothing the fabric over her legs as she rose gracefully, “but I’ve been with him every waking moment whenever he’s home for the past ten months, and I have  _ never  _ seen you around until today. Besides, you not knowing where his room is says a lot about how  _ ‘close’  _ he considers you. Now, if there isn’t anything wrong with you, please get out of  _ my  _ house.”

Amaya just stared as Hasuri, gray-black eyes staring into deep espresso eyes. Hasuri folded her arms over her chest while the young Uchiha woman’s jaw hung open. Even when Amaya began to walk away, Hasuri stared her down until she was out of the door and well on her way. 

Hasuri never considered herself the jealous type, mostly because she never wanted the spotlight. Always letting her little sister shine. But she had to admit, getting attention and respect for Madara, Izuna, and her fellows clansmen was rather invigorating and refreshing. And it was hard knowing that the man she...loved? Had feelings for? Was infatuated with? 

Whatever it was, it was difficult for her to constantly live in the fact that he had slept with many women and sired many children. She had only ever competed with other people in races and dancing competitions, but this Uchiha harem that she managed to slip into was a whole different battleground.

Still, Hasuri preferred to think that what Madara said and did with her was genuine, that she was winning this war for Madara’s heart. Madara may not have been the type of person to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he was never disingenuous. That heart of his was heavily armored, and bit by bit, she was stripping him down. 


End file.
